Family Affairs
by Lord Yellowtail
Summary: Post Robin 125. Tim has reclaimed Robin. When an old enemy discovers their identities, the Teen Titans attempt to protect those they hold dear. But can Tim lead his friends against a demon while clashing with his estranged father?
1. A Man Apart

A/N: This story is current through _Robin_ 125 including all _YJ_ issues through _Young Justice 55_. As usual, I own absolutely nothing. I've taken some (very slight) liberties with certain elements of canon, so it would probably be safe to peg this a light AU. I realize the tabbing is shot in some places. FFN is mangling it. Thanks to VirtualFaerie for Beta-reading. Feedback, especially constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

            _Gotham is beautiful at night._

            As he swung through the warm May night, jumpline wound around his fist, black cape with yellow lining snapping in the wind, Tim Drake, Robin the Third, had to acknowledge the truth in the old saying. Gotham wasn't going to win any architectural awards, but there was something about its dark, angular buildings, structures that violated every modern rule of aesthetics, that demanded respect. There was a promise there: _I am Gotham._ _I am proud. I shall remain._

            Perching on a gargoyle and pulling his cape around himself to block out the wind, Tim had to admit the illusion had one fatal flaw: the moment you looked down, it all shattered. On street level, Gotham's unusual profile did nothing to hide the truth: the city was a hellhole. Oracle once called it "Satan's septic tank." If it was villainous, illegal, or just plain dirty, it made its home here.

            _Funny then,_ the masked teen thought idly, his mouth falling into a thin line,_ how much I gave up so I could be right back in the middle of it all._ Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of a distant scream, his head jerking on instinct towards the latest note in the symphony of the damned. _A woman. No more than a mile away, near the convention center._ He frowned for an instant, before sending out a line and swinging into the air once more. As gravity took him, the corners of his mouth twitched up, a determined smile flashing across his face. _Somebody_ had to make sure the promise was kept.

* * *

            Dana Drake peered through the open window over her kitchen sink, scanning the void, then looked at her watch. _3:30 AM_. She sighed. _He's late._ Hands slightly shaking, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt, hitched her jeans up a little higher, and even fiddled with her raven hair. _Need to be presentable when he _does_ get here._ She moved to the oven, the floor like ice against her bare feet. Her eyes fell on two trays of rising sugar cookies. _Need to take them out soon. He likes them browned, not burned._

            She pulled a stool over to the oven so she could keep a better eye on the sweets. _This would be so much easier if I used the timer._ But that would be breaking the rules of the game. A buzzer might wake her sleeping husband and send him running in with baseball bat--or firearm--in hand. She scowled. _When did everything go so wrong?_

            The rules, of course, were just a show--like so much else that went on in her house. Jack wasn't sleeping so much as lying in bed brooding, pretending not to notice she had snuck out of the room, dressed in the guest bathroom, and crept down to the kitchen. Pretending not to smell the treats she was baking for Tim, not to hear any snippets of conversation that might float upstairs when Gotham's youngest knight finally arrived. She had no doubt Tim would eventually show up. _He has to._

When morning came, Jack would ask no questions--not about the dirty footprints on the tile floor, not about any left over cookies, or sand tarts, or whatever she'd managed to coax into being with her meager culinary skills, and certainly not about anything she might have heard from his son. And she would abide him, acting just as oblivious. _Where did it all go wrong?_

            _I can't think like that_, she brought her hands to her temples, rubbing gently, _it's_ _not wrong. Not completely right either. Somewhere in the middle._ _After all,_ she thought, a sudden wave of bitter pride crashing over her, _Tim's a hero. A living legend who risks his life fighting lunatics and pulling babies from burning buildings every night, who's helped _save the world_ more than once, and God knows what else._ She sighed. _A hero--a boy--who doesn't feel welcome in his own house, and hasn't even seen his father in almost a year. _Her mind drifted back nearly eight months, when it had all come crashing down.

Tim had been absolutely listless for nearly a month. He came home from school, did homework, ate, slept, and, come the next morning morning, did it all again. _Like a perfect little zombie._

She turned the oven off, still deep in thought. Tim was miserable, and Jack's trust in him seemed to have hit a brand new low. But trying to interfere only made Tim sulkier, and Jack--who was determined to shut her out of his latest disciplinary power trip--angrier. She had never told either of them, but by the night it all came to a head, she was seriously considering leaving. She loved Jack, considered Tim her own son, but living in the middle of her husband's happy family farce was getting to be too much. Thankfully, it never came to that. The night a bloodied, battered girl in a trashed Robin suit burst into their house screaming for Tim--begging for his help--changed everything.

"Dana? You okay?" The voice was soft, concerned.   
            Dana sprang up and spun on her heels, her heartbeat like a bass drum between her ears, a familiar blend of ecstasy and terror churning in the pit of her stomach.

"Tim!" _Wonderful. I let him see me zone out._ _Get it together, Dane..._ "Sorry. Coffee makes me jumpy, I guess." _Oh, that's lame._ She swept her eyes over him.

Her stepson--her sweet, brilliant, too-damned-noble-for-his-own-good stepson--was perched on the counter next to the sink. The window was closed, the thick red curtain drawn tightly shut. For an instant, she wondered how he'd managed to get in without making a sound, but answered herself just as quickly. _He's Robin._

He sat with his hands in his lap, dangling his black-booted feet over the counter's edge. His cape hung open, the golden R over his heart sparkling in the light, the muscles in his arms and legs like pistons as they moved. His mask was gone; sparkling blue eyes watched her intently from underneath twin locks of dark hair. But all that was beside the point. He was in one piece. _Thank God._ She moved forward almost without thinking, pulling him into a tight hug, only slightly surprised when he returned the gesture without hesitation. "It's good to see you, Tim."

He grinned. "You too, Dana. Sorry I'm late."

She smiled. "No problem." _You only scared the hell out of me._ "I assume you ran into some last minute ... excitement."

He tilted his head, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Actually, I got stuck in a nasty traffic jam. Overturned big rig. Sealed up the Kane Tunnel for nearly an hour _and _dumped a few tons of unprocessed fertilizer. Came up to the bottom of the car door." He frowned deeply.

_Unprocessed fert--oh._ "Ew."

Tim smiled thinly. "No kidding. I couldn't tell if Harold was going to cry or try to beat my head in with a pipe. But I did manage to convince him to entrust me with a motorcycle, so here I am."

_Harold? Oh! The car guy._ She frowned slightly. _Do you _have_ to be so morbid, Tim? Then again, as long as you can joke about it, I guess nothing too terrible happened tonight..._

"So," he said suddenly, a grin playing across his lips, "what smells so good?"

It was obvious he knew--he had that I-can't-believe-you-went-through-all-that-trouble look on his face, even though he was doing his best to hide it. She smiled. _Might as well play along._ "I thought you might like some cookies, honey." The patted an empty spot on the island in the middle of the kitchen. "Grab a stool... I'll get you some milk as soon as I get these out." She grinned. "And don't even think about trying to help. Just relax."

"Dana," he said, "you don't have to do all this. I know it must be hard enough getting yourself up in the middle of the night just to meet me."

She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. _God. How can you be so modest? _"You make it sound like some sort of chore. It's never been a chore, Tim." She sat the trays on the island, and knelt in front of him, squeezing his shoulders. His body armor felt smooth and almost rubbery, with something harder underneath. _Blunt trauma plating. For repelling bladed weapons._ She suddenly found herself fighting hard not to cackle at just how surreal it all was. She took a deep breath. _If I'm going to say this... _"The night things ... went bad--the night Stephanie came, and your father made you chose ... I remember it like it was yesterday." He nodded silently, his eyes glowing with an intensity she knew belonged more to Robin than Tim, just like all his most sincere emotions.

"I was thunderstruck. Here was this girl--this vigilante that wasn't even supposed to exist--wounded and scared and crying, begging you to help her save Batman and the others from Two-Face. Telling you that you had to 'be Robin again,' because she didn't know what else to do. I don't think I've ever seen you look so horrified. Your father was off to the side, looking--I'm still not sure what to call that expression. For an instant, I was convinced she was totally and completely insane, but then I heard your voice."

She smiled again, looking into his rapt blue eyes. _Can't stop now._ "I remember staring at her, wondering just what the hell we were supposed to do with this lunatic, and then you spoke. 'Calm down.' You sounded ... more alive than you had in a month. But there was something else, a tone I had never heard before. It was as if you had changed in an instant, into someone else who was completely different but exactly the same. I knew she was telling the truth. Your father started trembling and--Tim, I may not be Batman's student, but I'm not a dunce--your lethargy, the way Jack was suddenly obsessed with controlling your every move, the despondent look you'd get every time some particularly nasty bit of crime reporting showed up on the news, all the times you had disappeared for days on end over the years--it all clicked. I realized you'd been Robin for years, right under both our noses, up until your father found out and obviously shut you down. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to stop and rationalize it and convince myself it wasn't true, but I couldn't."

"Dana," Tim whispered, a pained look in his eyes. She knew this was nothing new to him. He was the primary player in the melodrama, after all.

She shook her head. "Let me finish. I want you to know exactly how I feel, just so you don't get any more bizarre notions in that genius head of yours about why I'm doing this. I had no choice to accept the truth, at least for the time being. I was scared and amazed and even a little angry, but more than that, I was proud. If even half the things I'd heard about Robin were true, well, we wouldn't even be having this conversation if it weren't for you and your ... friends, would we? I saw this look in your eyes, determination and compassion like I've never seen anywhere else. Whatever made you want to do what you do, it was more than simple thrill seeking; it was--is--some sense of purpose I still can't quite get. It's a part of who you are, and no one can change that. And I knew, standing there that night, you were going, and nothing was going to stop you."

Tim was staring at the floor now. "Dad," he breathed, and Dana had to strain to hear him, "didn't understand that." He snapped his head back up, his blue eyes brimming with tears, looking far more like a sad kid in a Halloween costume than anything else. She wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him it would all be fine, but Tim cut her off. "Did he really think I would let them die, Dana? Did he really think I _could_ do that? He may think Bruce is solely responsible for all this," he gestured at himself, "hell, I won't pretend to have any idea what he thinks anymore, but I learned everything I know about right and wrong, good and evil, justice and injustice, from _him_." He looked up at the ceiling, and Dana felt her heart wrench in her chest. "Why did he make me choose, Dana?"

_Oh, God. Why'd I have to open my big mouth? Should have just given him the cookies and told him not to worry about it._ "Tim, your father loves you more than anyone else on this earth--including me. He's also one of the most stubborn men I've ever met. I won't try to guess what goes on in his mind, just like I don't pretend to understand how you think." _I'm not sure I'd want to._ "Jack wants what any good father wants: a completely safe, perfectly happy son. Unfortunately, it looks like fate made those two things mutually exclusive for you. I think he realized that the night Stephanie showed up. He panicked. And ... you know the rest." _Can't believe I'm making excuses ... damn it, Jack!_

He nodded. "I do."

"Just remember something for me," she tilted his head up, wiping his cheeks and giving him her best smile, "your father loves you unconditionally. And I know, deep down, he's proud of you. But what you do terrifies him even more than it does me. He knows he can't protect you anymore, and that eats at him. He feels like he doesn't have a place in your life anymore. Like you rejected him."

Tim narrowed his eyes. "It's not that simple!" he hissed. "I need Robin." She saw a hand moving underneath his cape, heard a click, and the next thing she knew he was holding a green mask in his lap, staring at it bemusedly. "It's a part of me. Bruce was kind enough to give me a place to stay after Dad ... kicked me out, and I love him and all the others like family, but Dad, he's my _father_. No one will replace him, ever. Doesn't he know that?"

She squeezed his shoulders. "He knows, honey." _I think._ "But his world got rocked, hard. He's still trying to adjust to all this. Just give him time. Until then, I'll be here every Friday night so long as you want to meet me, because you _are_ part of this family, and I want to be part of your life." _Enough drama. We'll both need Xanax at this rate._ She smirked. "Also, being your step-mother, I am perfectly within my rights to shower you with sugary treats whenever and however I so choose."

Tim looked up at her, a watery grin on his face. "Thanks, Dana. Hearing you say all that ... really means a lot. Have I told you lately you're the best?"

_Whew. Crisis averted, for now._ "Yes, actually. However, if you feel like repeating yourself..." She moved for the refrigerator, pulling out a milk jug and a pair of chilled glasses. "Now, get those gloves off. I think I'm safe in assuming pounding bad-guy face isn't very sanitary."

Tim laughed, the sound like music to her ears. "Yes ma'am."

"So, how was your week?"

He sighed. "How much detail do you want?" He poured himself a glass of milk, and started in on the cookies.

There was that sick lurch again, but it was becoming frighteningly easy to ignore. "I'll tell you what. I want to hear about what you did this week, costumed or otherwise, but you don't have to get ... overly detailed. Whatever you want to tell me would be great, Tim."

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "Well, I might as well start with last Saturday, then. I ended up getting rooked into baby-sitting with Anita and Cissie. I mentioned them before ..."

Dana giggled in spite of herself. _I wish I could've seen this._ "You're kidding, right? You really couldn't get her off?"

Tim grinned, wolfing down another cookie, chasing it with half a glass of milk. He really seemed to be enjoying them. "It wasn't that simple," he said finally, "there's a difference between being _able_ to remove someone, especially a kid, and actually doing it. As annoying as it was having a seventy-pound talking weight wrapped around my leg, I didn't think it justified a judo throw. Prying her off with my staff was out. The parents are usually pretty good about disentangling them ... usually motivated by fear of me. Unfortunately, this one's mother actually paid enough attention to know I was one of the good guys. Don't get me wrong--I normally appreciate that--but having her stand there and giggle at me really wasn't helping."

Dana grinned. Tim had a habit of ending his weekly highlight reel with some particularly cutesy or embarrassing Robin anecdote. On one hand, she knew he was trying to distract her from thinking about just how many people had tried to shoot, stab, smash, explode, or otherwise kill him. But at the same time, the stories he picked were almost always amusing, in a dark, twisted sort of way, and the way his eyes shined with accomplishment just made her even more convinced he was doing the right thing with his life--as much as she hated to admit it.

This vignette involved a ten-year-old trapped in a burning building, but it was impossible not to appreciate the cuteness of the aftermath. "You managed to get here, though, so I assume you eventually got yourself ... disengaged." She blinked. _Urban legends should not have milk mustaches._

"Actually, she decided to let go all on her own." He smirked. "It turns out she had bigger plans than just melding with my flesh."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" _I think I'm going to like this._ She took a sip of coffee.

"Sure. I mean, you can't ask someone out on a date with your face buried in his thigh, now can you?"

She sputtered, and felt a burning sensation as very hot Columbian Blend spewed out of her nose. _Damn it! _When she opened her eyes, Tim was looking thoroughly amused, his now drenched cape held tightly over his face and torso. _Oh, this isn't over, Timmy._ "You can," she said simply, "but not at that age."

Tim paled slightly, but managed not to send any projectiles in her direction. "Touche."

"So," she pressed, "what did the little lady want of her knight in shining spandex?"

Tim smiled brightly. "She wanted to know if I would like to see the new _Harry Potter_ movie."

Dana suddenly found herself covering her mouth. Maniac grins did not good impressions make. "I think I like her. You let her down easy, I hope."

One of Tim's eyebrows quirked up. "Of course. I just told her the truth: as flattered as I was, I'd already seen the movie with my girlfriend. Twice."

Dana's eyes widened, but she quickly regained her composure. _That's new._ "You have a girlfriend?" _About time. Ten months since you and Steph fizzled._

Tim blinked, then turned the color of Superman's cape, making a show of banging the side of his fist into his forehead. "Crap. _Crap, crap crap._" He inhaled deeply. "Uh ... yes." He put his face in his hands, but she didn't miss his smile. "Surprise?"

Dana knew she wasn't supposed to enjoy seeing him squirm, but it was so _cute_. "First I've heard of it," she smiled wickedly. "How long?" Much to her chagrin, he seemed to recover rather quickly. _Oh, well. Beaming is better._

"We've known each other for years, actually. I like to think we've always been very good friends ... even though I've really stepped in it on occasion." Something that might have been regret flashed in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. "We really started seeing a lot of each other about six months ago, after a mutual friend decided to play matchmaker. About six weeks later, it occurred to me that we were, according to most standard definitions, going steady. She's really sweet, and thoughtful, and smart and ... there's no one else quite like her." He snatched another cookie. His grin faltered for a moment. "I haven't mentioned her before 'cause, well, she's kind of shy."

_Shy enough to not mention for six months?_ Dana felt a frown coming on. "She won't mind that you slipped, will she?"

Tim shook his head. "Nah. I've told her about you, and she sort of figured I'd let it slip sooner or later. She just wants to make a good impression when you finally do meet her, I think."

There was something wrong with that explanation, but she let it slide. For now. "Well, from the way you're grinning, I'd say she's already made a pretty good impression on _you_. So, does this mystery girl live nearby?" _I'm not prying. Standard questions shouldn't raise any alarms._

Tim looked ready to smack himself again. "You need a name, don't you? Sorry. Her name is Greta. She goes to St. Elias." His eyes sparkled brightly.

She munched thoughtfully on a particularly malformed star. "St. Elias, the boarding school? That's a bit out of the way for you, isn't it?"

His grin was impish. "Not when you've got access to the JLA teleporter network, one of the most powerful sports cars on the planet, and three very good friends capable of breaking the sound barrier at will. That last one's a bit of an emergency option. Bringing Kid Flash, Superboy, or Wonder Girl along does not a good date make."

_And he's _so_ not joking. Not fair._ "You could have just said no. So she knows about your ... night job?" _Oz is nice in the summer._

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

Dana considered, deciding she had the right to ask, at least. "Is she, you know..." she tapped the green domino mask sitting on the counter.

His face was unreadable, but he responded without hesitation. "No."

"Ah." _And _that_ would be a nerve._

But Tim continued, grin returning, as though she'd never said anything. Which meant the subject was closed. "It'll be a bit simpler for the next couple months. We're both out of school. Oracle owes me a favor, so I got Greta put up in the Hyperion a few days ago. Between school and ... everything else, we haven't gotten to spend as much time together as we've wanted lately." He grinned. "We're looking forward to it."

"What about her parents? They don't mind her spending her vacation away from them?" The contentment on his face shattered, and she knew she'd screwed up. _Oh, hell._

Tim sighed, and when he spoke again his voice held an edge that sent a chill down her spine. "Dana, I ... I shouldn't be telling you this, but I can't afford lying to you. Just, when you do meet her, no pity. She doesn't need that."

_Oh, boy._ "Of course." _What'd I just agree to?_

He was fiddling with his mask, now, stormy eyes locked with hers. "Her father is dead, and her mother ... her mother is too medicated to recognize her most of the time."

_Shit._ "Oh." _Nice job, Dane._ She got the now-familiar hunch that wasn't the whole story, but there was no way she was going to force the issue. The hard, brooding look in Tim's eyes was far more interesting. Suddenly a rather bizarre, frightening thought flashed through her mind: she hoped no one ever hurt this Greta. Tim dealt with many horrible things as Robin. His range of emotions when discussing them was both amazing and excruciating. But this was the closest she'd ever seen him get to looking really _furious_.

"Yeah." The darkness receded a bit from Tim's eyes, but he still seemed stuck in the middle of some private, bitter thought he had no desire to share. She meant to change the subject, but never got the chance, a faint ringing noise filling the air. Tim snapped out of his reverie, pulling something small and black from his belt.

_Interruption. Yes. _"Bit late for a social call, isn't it?"

Tim looked concerned, and glanced at his gloves and mask. "Yeah, it is." He looked at the little display on the front of the phone, frowning. "Aw, man."

"What is it?" But the phone was already pressed against his ear.

"Greta?" he asked softly. "What are you doing up?" He started nodding and making little understanding noises. "Bother me? Never."

Dana didn't like this. She didn't like seeing him looking fierce and ready to beat things into the ground, either, but right now he just looked worried. _Worried for his traumatized girlfriend._ There was so much in his life that didn't involve Robin. Things he would need his parents for. But he wouldn't ask, not anymore.

"The same one? ... Oh." He was looking tired now, for the first time since he had arrived. She didn't think it had a thing to do with the hour.

_She had a nightmare_? Dana thought. _Wonder if Tim's the only one she could call. Poor thing._ She tried to convince herself it was only sympathy she was feeling.

"Do you want some company? We can talk about it if you want. Or not," he said. "I'm done with patrol, and even if I wasn't... Dana? She won't mind, I'm sure." He looked at her.

_Wha--oh!_ "Go on," she whispered, "sounds like she needs you."

Tim smiled thinly, mouthing a thank-you. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Leave a window open for me?" A pause. "Love you too." Another beat, and the phone was closed, on its way back to his belt. He sighed. "Damn it."

Dana blinked. "Tim?"

"She ... hasn't been sleeping well lately. At all. I probably wouldn't know if I hadn't tried to surprise her after finals. Showed up at her window at St. Elias, got ready to do the whole Romeo thing, then I heard this thrashing noise, and screaming, and, well, she ended up getting a new window. Scared one of her roommates to death. The other two were either highly amused or extremely pissed. I was never quite sure."

_Oh, man._ "I see." _Wait a minute...how does Greta explain an amorous vigilante to her roommates...?_

"I don't know how to fix this sort of thing, Dana." He seemed to deflate, just a little. "Crazed maniacs and thugs I can deal with, but this..."

_Now this I can handle. Maybe._ "Sometimes, you just have to ride out the storm. It helps people to know they're not alone, but you probably know that."

There was that determined look again, and she felt a fresh wave of pride. "Yeah. I ... I'd better go." He stood, and wrapped his arms around her before she really knew what was going on. "I love you, Dana."

She smiled. "I love you too, honey. Same time next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the end of the world." He pressed the mask over his eyes. Tim Drake left the building, and a few seconds later, Robin left the house.

* * *

            Robin touched down on the roof of an office building--a fifty story black glass, grey steel monstrosity that looked like it was wearing a cathedral for a hat--and recoiled his jumpline. Even as he gazed across the street, finding an open window on the thirty-fifth floor of the Hyperion, his mind drifted back to Dana.

"Damn it," he growled, launching a pebble across the roof with a swift kick. It soared through the air, disappearing over the edge. He found himself hoping it didn't hit anyone on the head. _Only an idiot would be out this late._ He blinked, staring at his hands. _Only an idiot._ He'd taken it slow on the way to the hotel--slower than he should have--but he wouldn't be any good to Greta if he was completely bent out of shape when he got there. Dana tried to help him by saying what she did, and he had meant it when he thanked her, but he couldn't help questioning how much of what she said was truth, and how much was just damage control. Never mind all that stuff about wanting to leave his father that he wasn't supposed to know about--if he stopped and thought about _that_ now, he'd never make it to the Hyperion.

_Is Dad really proud of me?_ He felt he could say, without being too egotistical, that it had to be true on some level. What sort of man could know that his son saved innocent lives and _not_ be proud? That didn't make him feel any better, though--he'd never tried to be a hero, and playing with people's lives just to get a few gold stars from his father would be completely and utterly wrong. Just thinking about it made him slightly nauseous.

But that wasn't the issue, not really. At the very least, he felt comfortable assuming his father was not _ashamed_ of him, and that would have to do. _That leaves the other question: Did I reject him?_

Robin wanted to say no, but knew that wasn't completely right. He hadn't lied to Dana when he said no one could replace his father. He would love him no matter what. But loving someone and rejecting them from your life were two entirely different things. And that was the key. _My life. Mine now, mine forever ... even after he's gone._ His father had forced him to abandon his chosen path in life--one of his reasons for being, he had come to realize--for what? So he could live in an oversized brownstone and get lorded over by a man wearing a fake smile that said, quite plainly, _I own you._ And his father had _dared_ make him choose between just _existing_ like a prize in some power game and _saving his friends' lives_? Between being a prisoner in his own home, cut off from almost all his real friends, and doing what he could to make the world just a bit more bearable for the innocents who had to live in it?

And that, Robin realized, was the worst part of the whole thing. His father actually thought there _was_ a choice. Nothing Dana could say would change that. He would love his father so long as he breathed, but if escaping from his dictatorship meant rejecting him, well... _It's already done._

He took a deep breath, doing his best to gather up all his troubled thoughts and shove them aside. He eyed the Hyperion. _Enough. She needs me._

* * *

            Robin slipped through the window, hitting the ground just hard enough to make the barest noise. If Greta was anywhere close, she would hear it, know it was him. After a particularly bad nightmare, completely surprising her was _not_ a good idea. He waited, looking around the well-furnished penthouse, with its Berber carpet, white leather furniture, and ultramodern accruements, hearing nothing. _Not in here._ After closing the window, he swept past the kitchen, finding it deserted, smiling thinly when he saw an empty Twix ice-cream carton sticking out of the trashcan. _Bedroom, then._ On his way there he looked at the door that led to the rest of the hotel, frowning. _Five kinds of locks, all thrown. Only in Gotham._

            The bedroom door was cracked open just slightly, a sliver of dim, pulsating light from the television falling across the floor. He heard a low rumble coming from the speakers that sounded a lot like--he blinked--CNBC, specifically Breyer's International Market Report. Bruce kept the financial news channel on at least one screen in the Cave at all hours, and the mansion, too, when Alfred let him get away with it. So that meant--his eyes widened--_She's acting like Bruce._

            Filled with a renewed sense of urgency Tim knocked lightly on the bedroom door, opening it just a little wider. "Hey, Greta," he whispered, "can I come in?"

            "Tim!" Her head whipped around, short-cropped, bushy blond hair bouncing just below the nape of her neck. "You're here!" She grinned brightly, her small frame lost in midnight blue pajamas and folds of 800 thread-count fabric. She grabbed a remote off a nightstand, and the late night captain of industry fell silent, a glowing "MUTE" tag obscuring the Nikei Exchange ticker at the bottom of the screen.

The prettiest pair of sapphire blue eyes he'd ever seen stared up at him from a mass of sheet and comforter, and he wondered, not for the first time, how she could do this to him--make his insides melt with the slightest glance. Not that he minded. Not in the least.

In the two or three seconds it took him to consider this, she slipped out of bed and started walking towards him. He smiled, opening his arms and stepping forward. _Almost there._ His fingers brushed her shoulders, and his grin cranked up a few notches. "_Gotcha!_"

"Wha--?" But Tim already had his hands under her arms, and in the next instant he was twirling her around, giggles like porcelain wind chimes filling the room. He stopped, kissing her lightly on the nose as she wrapped her arms around his neck, dimples plainly visible on her flushed face. "Why'd you stop?" she breathed.

Tim made no move to put her down. "I noticed the empty ice-cream carton in the trash. Alfred just cleaned this suit. He'll be pissed if it gets spewed on, even by one so lovely as yourself. Pissed Alfred is scary. Scarier than Batman."

She lowered her face, eyes disappearing behind her bangs. "Oh," she mumbled.

Tim frowned. _Aw, man. Smooth, nimrod._ "Greta? I was just kid--" But he never got to finish the sentence. Small, full, impossibly soft lips pressed against his. The scent of chocolate and caramel and her hair--_ripe strawberries_--consumed him, and all thought died a swift, painless death. Which was fortunate; his mouth slipped open, and his tongue suddenly had much less room to move. What was left of his higher brain functions flew the coop. He felt her fingers pulling at the edges of his mask, and managed to raise a hand to help her, pressing the mask into a compartment in his belt after a swift tug. His gloves fell on the ground a few seconds later.

When they finally did part (_Damn you, lungs!_), Tim inhaled deeply, struggling to find something to say to the fiercely blushing girl in his arms. _Right, Timbo. Like _you're_ not the color of a tomato._ "Wow." He finally managed.

"Yeah," she whispered slowly. "Wow."

"You know," he said flatly, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he lowered her to the ground, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you just set me up."

She grinned wickedly, blue eyes dancing. "You really _were_ trained by the World's Greatest Detective."

            Tim feigned shock, clapping a hand over the R on his chest and stepping back. "You ... Kon's ... contaminated you!" He wrung his hands theatrically. "_No!_ I am undone!"

            She giggled, taking his hands. "Goof."

            _Whatever makes you smile._ "At least _you_ think I'm funny."

            "Extremely cute, at the very least. As for Superboy, what can I say? He spends as much time as you do at our dorm. Between you two and Bart, I'm surprised we haven't been kicked out yet."

            He chuckled. "Are you kidding? I'm surprised Reddy hasn't come after us for corrupting his daughter." He shook his head. "Cissie and Bart. Do you ever find yourself wondering how that works?"

            She smirked. "I try not to think about it. It gives me a bit of a headache. But they're happy, and that's what matters, right?"

            Tim returned the look, giving her hands a squeeze. "Right." _One of the only things._ "Do you mind if I shed a few layers? I've been in costume since 9:45." _It's getting hot in here._

            Greta blinked. "Why are you asking _me_ for permission?"

            He shrugged. "It'd be sort of rude of me to start stripping in front of you without warning, wouldn't it?"

She blushed, eyes bulging a little. "Flirt." She failed to sound properly accusatory, in his opinion. "Permission granted."

"Aye, aye, pretty lady." Tim unclasped his cape, laying the heavy garment over a chair, and started to pull his armored tunic over his head. "So, anything interesting happen this evening?" He idly wondered if she'd bring up the dream as he laid it over the cape.

"Not really," she mused. "I finished reading _Jane Eyre_--I don't know why you don't like it, Tim--and tried a couple movies."

He tugged the wrinkles out of his tank top. "Oh? Anything good?"

"_Robin Hood_ was pretty cool, but the other one..." she blushed. "I think I read the title wrong. It was animated, Japanese with subtitles, the music was awful, no one seemed to be able to keep their clothes on for more than five minutes, and there was an octopus..." Greta shuddered.

Tim was on one foot, in the process of pulling off a boot, and he just barely managed to catch himself before toppling. "You rented _hentai_? Cartoon smut?" His mind was trying to reconcile Greta and porn in the same general area, but all he got was a jumble of images, most of them Kon drawing inappropriate doodles of Wonder Woman while making, as Bart called them, "arty French noises."

She threw a pillow at him, not seeming to mind when it didn't connect. "I didn't know that at the time! It was horrible, Tim--I thought it was some sort of romance--it was called _Sea of Passion_, so I thought it'd be like _The Love Boat_, you know? But then people started getting naked, and before I could turn it off the octopus--oh, God, Tim, the octopus..."

Tim frowned, trying very hard not to laugh. "I'm ... uh ... sorry you had to see that, Greta. I'm hoping you ate dinner _before_ the movie." He sat down next to her, putting a hand around her neck, rubbing gently with his fingers.

Greta nodded, relaxing into his hand with a sigh. "Yeah. But afterwards, I ended up downing a whole carton of Twix ice cream to try and cleanse myself." She paused. "Ate it so fast I don't even remember tasting it. What a waste..." she trailed off, turning to look at him, sweeping her gaze over him much like Dana. Apparently finding everything in order, she smiled. "So, how was _your_ night?"

"Pretty slow, actually. Just the usual drunken, idiotic creeps and purse-snatchers. There was a major jewelry robbery downtown, but Batman and Batgirl were first on the scene ... all the good punching bags were already unconscious when I got there. Not that I'm complaining. The less people shooting at me, the better."

She nodded, brows furrowing. "Definitely."

He grinned. She never was too eager to hear about his patrols. He supposed that meant she trusted him to take care of himself. She'd also seen enough battle and strife to last a lifetime--he didn't mean to dump any more of his on her shoulders than he absolutely had to. It also meant she wouldn't ask him about his visit with Dana, at least not tonight. "I talked to Bruce," he said finally.

            Her neck muscles tensed under his fingers. "And?"

            _Amazing how that kills the mood. Almost not worth it._ "He considered my ... our ... request." He kept his tone flat, staring at the muted television.

            "Well?"

            "He doesn't want my training to slack off," he said slowly. "Says I'm too close to reaching 'the next level.' I'm not sure what that means--except for the fact I managed to pin Dick the other day without using anything from my utility belt." _Glad he didn't tell Bruce he slipped on my cape._

            She bowed her head. "Oh."

            "He also said he understands your place in my life, and for that reason, I am now free to skip patrols however often I see fit for the rest of your stay in Gotham, barring any emergencies." He finished speaking in the same flat tone, managing with some difficulty not to grin--until he felt a pair of small, thin fingers thump the back of his head. "Ow!"

            "That was cruel, Tim." She had her arms folded now, trying to look angry and failing miserably. The smile threatening to split her face was _not_ helping matters.

            "Any crueler than making me think you were about to burst out crying?"

            "No," she shook her head. "Not really. This is wonderful news, though. I was starting to get a bit jealous of all those ten-year-old leg-huggers." She relaxed back into his side, his fingers moving back to their place on her neck. "He's really not so bad, is he? Batman, I mean."

            Tim shook his head. "No, he's not. But it's hard for him to show he cares ... he's ... more insecure than you might think." _Understatement of the year._ "I'm also pretty sure Alfred threatened to stop feeding him if he didn't say yes."

            She made a face. "You make it sound like Alfred runs your lives."

            "It's a benevolent dictatorship." She yawned, leaning her head into his shoulder, the hair tickling his neck and chin sending little sparks jumping up and down his spine. "Sleepy?"

            She tensed again, and not just in her neck and shoulders. "Sleep can wait."

            He felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach. _Here we go._ "Wait too much longer, and the sun'll be up."

            She closed her eyes. "Tim ... don't ..."

            He frowned. _So we're back to the phone call. This is going to be unpleasant._ "You shouldn't bottle these kinds of things up, Greta. It just makes them fester."

            She narrowed suddenly shimmering eyes at him. "How would you know, Tim? When was the last time _you_ woke up in a cold sweat, trying to figure out where you were, _thanking God_ none of it was real?" She blinked. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

            _Third time this week. Shit._ "Shh ... I know." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards his chest. When he felt her head relax into the pillow of muscle and skin over his heart, he spoke again. "Before my father discovered Robin, when I was really pulling the wool over his eyes, I'd go days without sleeping well. I had a couple of really bad nightmares, but most of the time it was just bizarre stuff about Dad and all my secrets. The worst part, Greta, was having no one to talk about it with. I didn't feel comfortable enough bringing it up with the others.

"I remember feeling so isolated ... eventually it started consuming me, even when I was awake. It was always there, this gremlin of doubt and anxiety and fear that colored everything. By the time it all crashed, I felt like twine being pulled on at both ends, an instant from snapping." He ran a hand through her hair. "I don't want you to ever feel like that." _Again_, he thought suddenly, a flash of self-loathing filling his consciousness before being violently beaten down.

There was silence, save the sound of their breathing--his slow and steady, hers in hot, quick bursts. "Are you sure? You've ... you've got your own problems."

He smiled down at her. "And they'll still be there in the morning. You're the best thing in my life right now. The best thing in _ever_. If we have to work through rough spots every once in a while, so be it." She made a noise he couldn't identify. "If you were in my place, what would you do?"

She didn't say anything, then, "It ... it was Mommy."

_Oh, God. Greta..._ "What happened?"

"I was at ... the mental hospital ... it was a visitation day." She started speaking faster, as if afraid the words would stop if she didn't get them out. "I was in one of the little rooms where they usually bring her wheelchair, waiting. I had on that purple sweater she likes. I even brought one of my old stuffed animals, to help her recognize me. Then one of the doctors found me, told me there was a breakthrough with her treatment, that she was almost completely recovered ... he was even talking about _releasing_ her, Tim. Forever."

Tim frowned lightly, glad she couldn't see him. _Sounds like a great dream. Those don't just go bad_, he held her tighter, _they go nuclear._ He frowned. _And she has such _vivid _dreams._

Greta continued. "Then she came in, _walking_, and they didn't have her in a straight-jacket anymore. I was so excited. But ... but ... she just looked at me and--she looked so _angry_, Tim. I don't ever remember her looking that angry. She started yelling, telling me she was glad she could think straight again, so she could remember what ... what I did." He felt a splash of something wet and warm through his shirt. "She said everything was my fault. Daddy dying, her getting sick ... Billy ..."

_Damn. _He brushed his fingers over her cheeks. "Greta, it was just a dream..." He started rocking her, slowly.

"I was crying, begging her to stop, but she wouldn't. She said I destroyed their lives, that if it weren't for me Billy wouldn't have done all those horrible things, and Daddy wouldn't have k-k-killed himself. That I did nothing but bring pain and misery." She looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, and for the first time he noticed how red her eyes were. "She said she _hated_ me, Tim."

He popped a compartment on his belt, pulling out a tissue and carefully swabbing at her cheeks. _God, you don't deserve this._ "Now, that's not true," he said gently. "You know that's not true."

"I," she sniffled, "I ... I've thought about it sometimes. When she's ... having a good day, when she recognizes me and doesn't think I'm a hallucination, she's always so happy to see me, but it's always like ... like she doesn't really understand _how_ I'm in the room with her. And there's stuff she doesn't remember. I know she's not all there, Tim. What if there's a part of her that resents me--that hates me--but her mind's too jumbled up to realize it? What if--?" But she fell silent, Tim's thumb sliding over her mouth.

"It was just a nightmare. None of what happened to your family--not to Billy, not to your father, and certainly not to your mother--is your fault. Your mother is very sick, but I've been with you when she's lucid. I've seen the way she looks at you. The love in her eyes. No matter how fractured her mind is, there's no way she could ever hate you, not ever. She's your mother, Greta, and," he felt a lump form in his throat, but pushed it back down, "parents love their children absolutely, forever."

She shifted against him. "You ... really believe that?"

_I have to._ "Yeah."

She yawned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm sleepy, Tim."

He leaned against the pillows as she curled into a ball against him, shutting her eyes. He draped an arm over her. "I'm not going anywhere." He started humming an old lullaby he remembered his mother singing years ago, the words long since lost to memory. Her breathing slowed, and before he finished the chorus, she was gone. Tim lay there, watching her breathe, keeping vigil with the chocolate, the caramel, and the strawberries.

* * *

Tim awakened with a jolt, but kept his eyes closed. _Something's wrong._ A soft, warm mass steadily rose and fell on his chest. _Greta. Still asleep._ He carefully kept his own breathing regular, his body still. The television glowed faintly through his eyelids. But it was the slight breeze on his face that tipped him off. _Window open. Closed when I fell asleep. Someone here._ He ignored the panic rising in his gut, trying not to think about the fact he was unmasked with a nearly defenseless girl sleeping on his chest, half his clothes and equipment strewn across the room. _Stay calm._ He concentrated, straining his ears, until he could make out a third set of breaths. _Perfectly regulated. Deep. Familiar._ Realization struck, and his eyes snapped open. "Batman," he hissed. Greta shifted on his chest, mumbling something about "chunky monkeys." _At least she sleeps hard._

"Robin." The Dark Knight gazed down at them, a shadow of a smirk on his face. "You look comfortable."

Tim blushed. He'd done his best to cover them up after Greta had fallen asleep, but everything was still pretty strewn, and they were both less than completely dressed. "I'm still wearing pants."

The non-smirk ratcheted up a notch, leaving Tim feeling like he'd just played into his mentor's hands. "That's good." His blank, emotionless gaze fell on Greta. "Another one?" The trace of concern in his whisper was almost imperceptible, but Tim appreciated it nonetheless.

Tim felt his own mouth drop into a frown. "Yeah," he whispered, "a nasty one." _She could give you a run for you money._

Batman nodded slightly. When he spoke again, Tim could hear a shade of Bruce. "Has she considered ... talking to someone? A professional?"

_This from a man who dresses as a flying rodent every night._ The teen shook his head. "After seeing how they treat her mother, she's a bit weary of that sort of 'professional.'"

Another almost invisible nod. "Understandable. Can you handle it?"

"I'm doing my best."

"She's lucky to have you, Tim."

Tim quirked an eyebrow. "Thanks ... Bruce." _First name and a sincere complement? He wants something._ He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. _5:45._ "Is something up? I figured you would've turned in by now."

"We have a problem," Batman said, the gravel back in his voice.

_Crud._ "The sun'll be up in thirty minutes ... can't the morning crew deal with it?" Then his eyes widened, and realized he must have tensed_._ Greta tightened her grip on him, and her head was moving in the crook of his neck. He forced himself to relax, rubbing her back lightly until her breathing slowed again. _Not waking you up if I can help it, beautiful._ "Arkham? Did one of _them_ get out?" _Please, not the clown. Not while _she's_ here._

"No." Batman frowned. Upon hearing this, every alarm in Tim's mind went off. Normally there was a note of reassurance when Batman announced they weren't dealing with an Arkhamite, but not tonight. _I'm not going to like this._ "Superman has received word from Orion. Darkseid," Tim's eyes flashed, and he held Greta tighter, "has amassed an armada, and is believed to be preparing an attack on several undefended star systems in an attempt to expand his territory. Such an expansion would destabilize the balance of power in the region and increase the likelihood of Darkseid completing the Anti-Life Equation. New Genesis is in the midst of reconstituting its forces in the wake of their _last_ skirmish with Apokolips and has requested our aid."

Tim narrowed his eyes. _Great. Just great._ "'Our' meaning who, exactly?" He saw flashes of a battle on a distant hellish planet ... trapped with his friends fighting an unending horde of cackling parademons ... watching his teammates fall one by one ... seeing Lobo's dead, smoldering body sink into the mud ... hearing Greta scream in pain and rage as those _creatures_ surrounded her ...

If any of these memories registered on his face, Batman didn't acknowledge them. "Given the magnitude of the treat, they have requested we send anyone we can spare." The frown deepened. "The JLA, including myself, the JSA, and Outsiders will be departing in three hours. Time of return unknown. Likely no sooner than two weeks."

_Shit._ "They talked _you_ into going?" He tried to sound casual. "Must be expecting it to get _nasty_." It occurred to him to ask why the Titans weren't being mobilized, but he found he didn't mind sitting this one out.

"Indeed."

_Wait a minute._ "Where does that leave Gotham and Bludhaven? And Earth, for that matter?" He suddenly realized the likelihood of him sitting _anything_ out had just dropped to somewhere near absolute zero.

Batman turned, staring out the open window. "I am aware of the agreement we just made regarding your ... off-time, Tim, but I believe this qualifies as an emergency circumstance. The other Titans are being informed of the situation as we speak. In the event of a crisis the authorities cannot handle, you will be expected to render aid."

Tim nodded. He rarely stopped to think about it, but there was a definite chain of authority in their self-styled hero community. The Justice League and Justice Society had precedence, then the Outsiders, followed by the Teen Titans, and finally the dozens of fly-by-night groups composed of local and regional individuals that just didn't rate too high on the power-and-respect scale. _Well, at least we haven't scraped the bottom of the barrel yet._ And he had his confidence. Even with Starfire currently AWOL for some family function on New Tamaran, he felt they should be able to handle anything that came their way. If they were really lucky, nothing would come up at all.

"As for Gotham," Batman continued, "I _did_ agree to let you patrol at your discretion, and I am prepared to stick to that, with a slight modification. Oracle will be in charge. Batgirl and Huntress are capable, but if Barbara decides you're needed, be prepared to respond." There was a pause, and then that trace of Bruce he'd heard earlier was back. "That's the best I can do. Dick feels Bludhaven can weather a couple of weeks without Nightwing, but Gotham can't go undefended."

Tim frowned. _That's ... remarkably considerate. For Bruce. Still sucks._ "Understood." He felt himself smirk. "Sure you don't want to stay around for a while and help me explain this when Greta wakes up? She likes you, you know." _For now._

Tim heard a dry noise that could have easily been a chuckle. "I'll leave her in your ... capable hands. I have full confidence in you."

_Smart ass._ "Any idea how heavy this'll get?"

Batman turned towards him, gaze impassive. "It's Darkseid."

Tim nodded. "It'll be hell, then." His lips fell into a thin line. "Be careful, Bruce. And tell Dick to watch his back."

"I'll see that he gets the message." Tim blinked, and Batman was gone.

The Urban Legend looked at the peaceful girl on his chest, running a hand through her hair. She cooed. _Sorry._ _At least you slept through that. This ... news ... can wait._ He readjusted the pillow behind his head and closed his eyes, but the darkness didn't come. Instead his entire conversation with Bruce played itself back, including the flippant way they discussed Darkseid, one of the most evil, powerful beings in the universe, occasional star of Greta's nightmares and his own. He opened his eyes, the realization that sleep would not return feeling a lot like sipping spoiled milk.

Reaching for the remote, he turned the muted television to CNN, reading talking-head lips and watching his girlfriend sleep.

* * *

            Several hundred miles away, in a far less reputable hotel where the rooms were much smaller, the rates much lower, and the sheets much less likely to be clean, a young man sat scowling at his own ancient and battered television. He was tall, with dark hazel eyes, a long, angular nose, and a positively ripped physique. Thick obsidian hair hung between his shoulder blades. He wore black leather pants with matching jacket, and a scowl. The sound of cars passing along a freeway could be heard through an open window. A number of empty beer bottles littered the old shag floor.

            _Cooped up in a sanctuary for adulterers and whores. Pathetic._ He stood, stalking towards the decrepit little television, upon which was playing some cable network's lame excuse for erotic drama--a supposedly engrossing tale of totally immoral, possibly sadistic plastic surgeons working in a city whose inhabitants fell into one of two categories: rich, seductive harlot or scheming oversexed manbeast. It didn't help that every single actor and actress seemed to have attended the William Shatner School of Acting.

            _Absolutely pathetic. I am meant for greater things._ Suddenly overcome with frustration, he roared, grabbing the television and throwing it through the window, taking what comfort he could in the sound of shattered glass tinkling to the floor. It didn't amount to much. He looked towards the room's small desk, where a large crystal orb sat on a simple silver stand, pulsating with green light, a sneer twisting his face. Suspended in the center of the sphere was a small lock of thick, almost curled blonde hair. _At least tonight wasn't a total wash, eh Sis?_

            "Irascible as ever, I see." A titter. "And taking it out on the poor, defenseless appliances."

            The teenager whirled towards the feminine, bemused voice at the window, his fists clenching at his sides. "Who the hell are you?" he hissed. He felt no panic, only the slightest bit of anger that he'd been snuck up on. The woman looked young, no older than twenty-five, with pale skin, crimson hair that reached past her tailbone, and shining, yellow eyes. _Not human. No matter. Neither am I._ "How did you get in here?" His voice dropped to a growl. "And what makes you think I won't kill you where you stand?"

            A giggle. "Me? I'm whoever you want me to be, William. Or should I call you ... Harm?" She smirked. "And I can be far more useful to you if you _don't_ run me through with that oh-so-deadly broadsword under the bed."

            _How does she know...?_ He locked eyes with her, pale yellow eyes shining with malevolence. _Interesting._ He could bolt over the bed, pull his sword from under the mattress, and slice her head off in approximately five seconds, but for some reason he couldn't quite explain, he felt no threat from this being. _Speaks as though she knows me. Knows my real name. How is that possible?_ "Harm will suffice," he said, in what he felt was an appropriately condescending voice. "Very well. You seem to know a great deal about me, demon. Let's skip the more mundane questions, then. What do you want?" He frowned. "And don't turn my question back at me, if you please."

            She shrugged. "I'm afraid I'll have to, Harms-a-lot. You see, I want exactly what you want."

            He raised an eyebrow. "And you think you know what that is?"

            She laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "I wouldn't be much of an empath if I didn't, now would I?" He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, relax. I can't read your mind, just your feelings. Desires. Fears--of which there are remarkably few, I might add. I can sense your frustration, Harm. I don't have to read your thoughts to know you're wondering where it all went wrong." She sat on the edge of the table, staring at the pulsating crystal ball. "Haunting her dreams now? Are you bored, or what?"

            She snapped her attention back to him. "But I digress. You're undoubtedly wondering how you came to this. You, who went so far in your quest for power as to condemn your only sister to a demon's playpen for eternity--never mind that she didn't stay completely dead. You, who gained so great a power that death itself proved a mere inconvenience. You, who made a vow to become the greatest force of darkness history has ever known. You--well, I think that's enough flattery."

She smiled. "You're wondering how you've ended up here, in Chicago's _marvelous_ red-light district, rooming with roaches and prostitutes and not doing something truly interesting--like carving Superman's bones into jewelry. Does that sound about right?"

He felt himself smirk. "More or less." _Curiouser and curiouser._ "But what's the point? What's that got to do with you?"

The girl with irises like glowing pus--which he found quite mesmerizing, much to his chagrin--snapped her fingers, looking triumphant. "Aha! That _is_ the million-dollar question, Pain King. I'll tell you the truth. You've hit a rough spot in the road of life, to be sure. But it's not meant to last forever. Trust me, I'm an expert on things involving time."

Realization blossomed in his mind. What she knew, the way she talked--it all made sense. "You're a time traveler."

She grinned, clapping her hands. "Bingo! And Harm, let me tell you--and you can believe me--your time will come. Couple decades from now, hell, you'll be running the place. But," the glow in her eyes intensified and for the first time he noticed her fangs, "why wait? Why take over tomorrow what you can conquer today?" She got up, walking forward until they were inches apart. "What if I could help you become one of the most influential, feared beings on this planet practically _overnight_?"

He frowned, considering. It was all a little too convenient. Why would this person just show up? If she was telling the truth, it would make sense, but she could just as easily be part of some sort of trap, and there was no way to know for sure. _But if what she's saying is even remotely true, how could I pass this up?_ The answer was obvious, and he smiled. "I would say you have my full attention, Miss ..."

She bounced on her feet. "Pandellion's the name, but my friends call me Pansy. And I think you've just realized how beneficial being my friend could be." She crossed her arms. "Now, another question. I want you to think back on all your battles. Wins and losses. Do you notice a pattern there?"

Harm frowned. He'd spent countless hours thinking about that very thing. "I mostly concern myself with dominating costumed do-gooders in my own age bracket--for training purposes. Alone, or in small groups, they're no match for me." He growled. "But certain allied individuals have proven most ... resilient to my advances."

            "Ah, yes," Pansy purred. "I do believe they used to call themselves Young Justice. I believe most of them are members of the Teen Titans now. An even more formidable team. You've yet to attempt fighting them, correct?" Harm punched a hole in the wall. "Right. See, it's not that they're better than you, not by any means."

            _This is becoming annoying._ "What is it, then?"

            "Secrets, Harm-a-licious. All of them, even the ones with no dual identity, have their roles as heroes," she scrunched up her nose, as though smelling something foul, "and another, private dimension of life, where they go to relax and recuperate. They are resilient precisely because they can withdrawal from the game at will and return only when ready. Tear down the barriers, Harm, and you destroy that advantage. And remember, the world's mightiest defenders--the people you'll have to deal with one day if you truly wish to ascend in power--care for them. Decimate their proteges, and you will deal them mortal blows."

            Harm felt a smile creep across his face, bigger than any he'd felt in months. _You_ are_ an angel._ "And you want to help me do this, Pansy? Why?" _Stupid name, though._

            She frowned for the first time since he'd seen her. "Let's just say, in the course of your battles with Earth's champions over the next couple decades, a great many of my interests will be ... compromised. It'll be much better for the both of us if we cripple them now."

            _An opportunist after all. Good. Altruists make me sick._ "And how exactly do you plan to go about that?"

            She smiled again. "I have an interest in seeing your desires are fulfilled, Harm. All of them. I will see to it that the Teen Titans and their allies are delivered into your waiting hands. I don't really care what you do with them, but Robin--nice snarl, Captain Kill--well, personally I've always thought his head would look rather good on a pike. I've seen him get incinerated, and to be honest it was a bit of a letdown. Over far too quickly, if you know what I mean." She stepped closer to him, and when she spoke again, it was in the light, willowy voice of a small girl with short-cropped, bushy blond hair and sapphire blue eyes, sleeping happily in the arms of a young, half-clothed vigilante several states away. "As for your other desires, I can help with those too."

            Harm smiled. "Do tell."


	2. Smoke on the Water

A/N: See Chapter 1 for full notes. Thanks to VirtualFaerie for Beta-reading. Feedback, especially constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

            "Try one of these, Jim. Orange glaze. Still hot."

            Jim looked to his right, across the bow of the sleeping Batsignal--which made a surprisingly good coffee table when pointed straight up--at the large detective waving a doughnut box at him, then back across the roof of GCPD Central, brightly lit by the rising sun. Bullock was in his usual fine form: wrinkled brown tweed slacks, matching jacket that had seen better days, shirt the yellow of a nicotine stain, and slightly frayed black tie hanging loosely around his large neck. A week's worth of black stubble dominated his cheeks and chin, and his eyes burned with almost animal intensity from under a dark, unkempt mass of hair._ Always nice to have a bulldog in your court._ He grinned. "Fine, I give."

Jim snatched a doughnut from the box, feeling his fingers sink into the thick, sticky glaze and wondering how it was that Harvey _never_ managed to have any napkins. It seemed to be a law of the universe--the gooier the thing Harvey Bullock was stuffing into his mouth at any given time, the less likely he was to carry any sort of usable sanitary implement. Jim was fairly sure that just being near the man made his cholesterol rise, but sank his teeth into the pastry nonetheless. _Wow._ "Not bad. Not bad at all." He took a sip of coffee from a black World's Best Dad mug.

Bullock took a swig from a Styrofoam cup nearly lost in his big hand, chins bouncing as he slung his head back. "I told ya you'd like it."

"So you did." _These must have extra sugar--he's unusually talkative for this time of morning._ Left with no choice, he wiped his hand on the inside of his brown trench coat.

Bullock chuckled. "Never thought I'd be doing this again, Commish."

_Feeling introspective, Harvey?_ The older man grinned. "What? Getting conned into Saturday morning shifts when you should be at home in bed recuperating from some wild and crazy party?" He blinked. _Sugar must be going to my brain. Barbara's right--I am a lightweight._

Harvey's laugh was like a bark. "You kidding, Jim? I haven't pretended to have a sex life since about the time they cancelled _Night Court._"

Jim's eyebrows shot up. _Figures. Too often we forget to look past the stubble and the chins and the wrinkled clothes and realize_ _there's a real _person_ in there._ "Didn't figure you for a John Larroquette fan, Harvey. As for the other thing, there's no reason you should give up on the whole dating scene. You have ... uh ... a lot to offer." _Now I'm giving date advice? Maybe _I_ should've stayed in bed._

Another bark. "If you say so, Jim. I'm married to the job, though. What's left of me after you get past the badge isn't enough to have a relationship with. Not a good one, anyway. There was this brief thing with Montoya years ago, but it didn't last. That whole not-being-attracted-to-men thing sort of got in the way. Oh, and I watched it more for Richard Moll than anything else."

Jim could do nothing but nod sagely. "I wish I'd been around when that broke. I was very disappointed to hear how it went down. I thought I had people trained better."

            Harvey shook his head, beady eyes narrowing. "You can't train human nature out of people, Jim. Two-Face knew that. As for those bastards that got on her case ... friends she didn't need, as far as I'm concerned."

            "Well said." He took another sip of coffee, and suddenly found himself wanting another orange goo doughnut. _Willpower, Jim. Willpower._

            "But no," Harvey said quietly, "I wasn't talkin' about my wasted Saturday. I'm talkin' about _this_." He waved his arm as if to indicate the roof, then rapped on the Batsignal. "I figured I was done with the force. And no one thought you were ever comin' back."

            Jim furrowed his brows. _Ah. So that's where this is going._ He sighed. "I suppose I didn't either, Harvey. But Gotham University wasn't doing a thing for me. The staff didn't like me because I wasn't an academic, and most of the kids didn't give a damn about Criminology--they wanted Batman dirt, pure and simple. I couldn't figure out where my life was going, and I didn't like that feeling. When the mayor called me after Commissioner Atkins was killed, he all but begged me to come back. I had sworn I was done, Harvey--this place has cost me ... too much. But he needed someone he knew could handle it, and he was out of options. I couldn't say no. It may not be the greatest job, but ..."

            "Your life ain't nearly so empty now, is it?" Bullock nodded. "And the mayor's right--you're the best thing that ever happened to this city." He looked at the Batsignal, and growled. "Well ... one of the best. But don't you ever tell _him_ I said that ... sir."

            _Harvey complementing Batman? Where are my flying pigs?_ "We'll just pretend it didn't happen." He took another gulp of coffee. "What about you?"

            Harvey raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? You know I only quit 'cause IA was trying to roast me." He looked away. "Still don't know how you managed to call 'em off."

            _Trying with good reason._ "Even the best of us make mistakes, Harvey. I don't approve of what you did, but I understand why, and after spending fifteen years working with a masked vigilante--calling him a friend--I can understand the temptation. We all deserve second chances, and you remain one of the best cops I've ever met. I asked you back because I needed you." He narrowed his eyes. "But if you _ever_ do _anything_ like that again, forget IA. I'll roast you myself."

            Bullock's eyes widened, but he smiled slightly. "You got it, boss." He gulped down another doughnut. "Do you ever wonder, if maybe, things have a way of sorting themselves out? I mean, you and I ending up back here."

            _You _are_ feeling deep, Harvey._ "You mean fate? Sure. Life is full of too many strange coincidences for it to all be completely random."

            A grumble. "Damn."

            Jim raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

            "I just hate to think there's somebody up there jerking us around. Like those string puppets, y'know?" He thumped the Batsignal. "All of us."

            _Now that's just weird._ "You worried about the Batman, Harvey? That's not like you."

            Harvey sneered. "Pointy Ears can take care of himself. It's the other one I'm worried about."

            _Oh. The boy._ "Robin. You're worried about what Batman said last night, when he showed up in my office and announced he was leaving on 'business.'"

            "He told you the kid would be around if you needed him."

            Jim nodded. "I don't like it either, Harvey. But I honestly don't think he forces them to do it. It's something they want, and he gives them the training and tools to survive. Or, at least, that's what I hope. Robin may not be Batman, but he can handle himself."

            "Oh, I know that. He's a helluva lot better than that girl that replaced him for a month while you were gone. Not just with the fighting, either ... he's got the mind of a good detective. Who knows? One day he might be able to give ol' Pointy Ears a run for his money. But that girl," he sighed, "she was struggling. From what I hear, some people were running a tab on when she'd end up, well ..." He growled. "How do you explain Bats letting _her_ out in that suit?"

            _I wish I could. Sometimes you make it hard to trust you, old friend._ "I never saw her as Robin, remember? But I have seen the Spoiler, and I think they were one and the same. She wasn't in it for the right reasons--if there can be a right reason for what they do. I think--pray--he knew that, but he just couldn't convince her to stop. Maybe he decided, if he shut her down, he could at least keep her from getting killed. Of course, she went away, so it makes you wonder." _Went away just like the _second_ Robin._

            "She's still alive, Jim," Harvey muttered, apparently sensing his thoughts. He had a tenancy to do that at the most annoying of times. "I asked Robin--the real one--a few months back. He got tight-lipped as hell. But he did tell me she decided it wasn't for her, and 'threw in her cape.' Seemed relieved about it."

            _Thank God_. Jim pushed his thick glasses up. "She knew when to walk away. That's good." He tossed Harvey an appraising look. "I never have asked you--what makes you like the boy so much? As much distaste as you have for his partner, you seem to have taken a real liking to him."

            Harvey licked icing off his fingers. "Never said I didn't like the Bat, Jim. You'd have to be an idiot to ignore the good he's done for this city. Doesn't stop me from being jealous as hell, though. It's damned annoying when a guy in a Halloween costume constantly shows up all of Major Crimes."

            _You said it._ "I know the feeling. But it's his way."

            Harvey laughed. "Now, the kid--he's not his boss, but he's got the skills and brains to show us up plenty. But he doesn't. Ain't no question he respects the badge. The Bat might too, but he's got his pointy head too far up his ass to let it show. Robin doesn't bother with the whole superiority routine, either. He treats us like equals at the very least, superiors often enough. He's not out to be better than us, just to do what he can, like everybody else."

            Jim nodded. "I've never thought of it like that before, but you've got a point." _Good observations._

            Harvey grinned. "He's also got big brass balls. You wouldn't believe some of the shit I've seen him pull."

            _Don't be so sure._ "I read all about that stunt with Steeljacket." Jim chuckled. "And here I thought you were just taken with his strength of character."

            "Batsy's got character, too. But you don't see me sharing my doughnuts with _him_, do you?" He waved the box at Jim, who grabbed something with so much chocolate and sprinkles that his blood slowed down just looking at it.

            "Fair enough. But Robin's taken down the Joker on his own." Jim felt a flash of anger just thinking of the clown. "What makes you think he can't take care of himself for however long Batman's gone? It's not like we're just going to sit back and let him do all the work on his own. And he's got Batgirl and that Huntress woman to back him up." _And Barbara._

            The detective shrugged his big shoulders. "If it was that simple, d'you think I would've mentioned it? The kid can handle himself, no question. But he's different since he came back. Just as capable--maybe better. Definitely been working out harder. Still a bit of a smartass, too, when he wants to be." Bullock smiled, as though he thought this was an admirable trait. "But he's more jaded now. Colder. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was depressed."

            Jim raised an eyebrow. _They really _must_ be friends. How did I not notice this?_ "Any idea why?" It occurred to him he probably would have noticed if it was Batman. Probably.

            "A hunch." The big man shook his head. "That Oracle whacko came on my radio the other night ... told Montoya and I where we could find a few scared tourists and some very banged up gang bangers. By the time we got there, the kid had 'em all trussed up, almost all out cold. One of 'em screamed something about being caught by 'the Bat's kid'--right in his face. He looked like he'd been slapped for all of two seconds."

            _Don't call my baby a whacko, Harvey._ "And then?"

            Another bark-laugh. "Then the kid broke his jaw before I had a chance to blink, leapt on a dumpster, and split. He was _pissed._ I've never thought the Bat was his dad--the first Robin, definitely, the second one, probably, the girl, no way in hell, but not this one."

            "Interesting," Jim muttered, wondering not for the first time where Batman had picked up his latest squire. _Whose family are you raiding this time, old friend?_

            "So," Bullock mumbled, "I was thinking, if Bats really did leave the boy in charge--if he is having problems--we shouldn't turn this beacon on unless we absolutely have to."

            Jim smiled thinly. "I have no problem with that, Harvey. None at all. But Batman entrusted him with the city. He wouldn't do that he didn't think Robin could handle it."

            Harvey nodded slowly. "I guess. Hope you're right, Jim."

            The Commissioner of Police looked at the sigil of the Bat etched into the giant search light at his side. "Me too, Harvey. Me too."

* * *

            "Nice place, Pansy." Harm, doing his best to look inconspicuous in tight black jeans and a denim button-up shirt, peered around the whitewashed, ultramodern penthouse apartment--complete with egg chairs--and winced. "I hope you rent." _It's like the set George Lucas forgot. Bleh._ He dropped a pair of black suitcases next to the door.

Pansy insisted he move out of the motel--it was "beneath him"--and he really had no reason to object. He didn't mind living with an inhuman girl; it wouldn't be the first time. He had fond memories of staying with Greta on Apokolips, watching Darkseid systematically recondition her mind--a mind he, masquerading as their _beloved_ father, had so painstakingly prepared for that treatment, prodding every vulnerability he could find until he could practically hear the foundations of her psyche crack. By the time the dark god had really started in on her, she didn't have a chance. He snarled. _Of course, it took her precious _Robin_ all of five minutes to undo all our work. Smooth talking bastard. Payback's going to be a bitch, Birdboy._

"Someone's feeling vengeful," Pansy smirked. "Reliving the past? I've done it. Not altogether useful." The demoness stepped out from behind the door of a refrigerator that looked more like something from an _Aliens _set than an appliance, holding a pair of Soder bottles. She had changed into what she called her "retro swag" upon arrival: a worn, light pair of bell-bottom jeans--with the little flowers on the legs, much to his annoyance--and Led Zeppelin shirt, topped with a tie dyed handkerchief holding her hair. He had been highly amused, when they left his motel room at sunrise, by how easily she managed to blend in with the people on the street simply by putting on a pair of wrap around sunglasses. _Humans are idiots._

            Amusement had turned to amazement after she led him through a few miles of Chicago's back alleys and, once convinced they wouldn't be seen, produced a Boom Tube with flick of the wrist. He had stared at the swirling white portal, realizing absolutely that he was _not_ dealing with a lightweight. Not that he planned on saying that. She still hadn't laid out how she was going to hold up _her_ end of the bargain, only saying she had something "really, really juicy."

The portal had landed them in Berkeley, California, of all places, and she'd calmly led him to her apartment, saying only that, "New Genesisian physicians can implant the most amazing things."

            She eyed him. "You're really not one to talk about furnishings, Harm. _You_ were content with the Cockroach Inn."

            Harm chuckled. "It served my purposes," he said coolly. "But somehow I didn't figure one so ... powerful ... as yourself would live in Mary Tyler Moore's dream home."

            She tossed him a bottle, and wagged a finger at him. "Don't diss the seventies. One of this country's best decades, as far as I'm concerned. Half the people were so stoned they wouldn't notice an atomic bomb going off down the street, and the other half were so concerned with that same atomic bomb _actually_ detonating, Vietnam--delightful bloodbath--and _gas prices_, of all things, that they just didn't care. Stoners, corrupt businessmen, and a populace torn between apathy and total social upheaval." She smiled ruefully. "You could get away with pretty much anything, without even trying to be sneaky. I still visit for fun every once in a while. And good hallucinogens. They were so much easier to acquire, then."

            He drained half the bottle in one chug. _I've allied myself with a stoner. Great. _"So, you control your ... interests ... from here, then?"

            She shrugged. "Here, there, yesterday, tomorrow ... it all sort of blends together when you know how to surf the time stream. Actually, my favorite residence is in Florence--or will be, in about fifteen years. But it's not like I could take you _there_. Oh, and don't you shoot those contemptuous thoughts at me, buster. I use the hallucinogens for mixtures. You're not the only one who knows the value of the occult."

            His eyebrows shot up. _Interesting. Time travel capabilities, empathic, voice mimicry, and knowledge of magic. Makes Buzz look like a peon. _"Sorry." Even he knew when kissing up had its advantages. "What now?"

            She sat in one of the egg-shaped stools by the bar, grinning. "I'm all about _your_ desires, Harmsy. What do you want to do next? Though I might suggest some food. Plotting the downfall of some of Earth's most skilled defenders is not best done on an empty stomach. Pizza?"

            He smirked. "Only if you agree to stop calling me by those _stupid_ names." He thought for a moment. "William will do."

            She grinned. "I'm moving up in your esteem, it seems. Fine, Big Willie. And after we order something with copious amounts of cheese and meat-like industrial by-product?"

            _Ugh. It's better than Harms-a-lot, at any rate._ He smiled. "You know good and well what I want."

            "Ah, yes. The Teen Titans and all former Young Justice members--six feet under. And I will give you what I promised. Thing is, William, I'm not that big on the whole fighting thing. I can do it in a pinch, but there are so many more _interesting_ ways to spend my time. When it comes down to it, you'll have to do most of the physical work yourself. Will that be a problem?"

            _Not in the least._ His grin turned feral. "I was planning on it."

            She clapped her hands together. "Goody. I just had my nails done." She ran her tongue around the edge of her bottle before taking another sip. "Think of this little project like any other business venture. You need three things to be successful in any project: information no one else has, the resources to turn that intellectual commodity into a functioning, sound enterprise, and a plan to get from concept to successful execution. And yes, that _is_ a double entendre." She finished her soda, stared at it for a second, and tossed it out an open window without so much as a backwards glance. "I can give you one and two, but I think you're more than capable of coming up with three on your own."

            He decided to ignore, for the moment, the fact Pansy sounded like an economics professor. _Information? This could be interesting, indeed._ "My dear mother always taught me to save the best for last, so I'll go with number two first. What do you mean by 'resources,' exactly?"

            She was staring at her nails--which, he noticed, did look freshly manicured. "I really hate to bruise your ego, Will, but the people you want--well, they're very good at what they do. That is, screwing you over and living to tell about it. Taking them down isn't a one-person job. You'll have one opportunity to catch them unaware--coordinated, overwhelming force wouldn't be a terrible idea. You're going to need some muscle, and I can give you that."

            _I'll bet you can._ He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you have your own private army?"

            "At the moment, no. But I can get one soon enough. Connections." She giggled. "But more on that later. You have another question, I believe."

            _How many tricks _do_ you have up your sleeve, Pandellion?_ "What is this information you have for me, and how is it going to help me achieve ... production?" _Two can play at the evil executive game._ He had to admit that verbal interplay with this ... being ... could be entertaining.

            She shifted on the stool, as if to give him her full attention. "I've got a lot to tell you, William. Things that are considered unknowns or secrets in the now usually aren't after a few decades have passed. By the time the information becomes public knowledge, it's generally worthless, but if you can get it and take it to a time where it's not--well, that changes the rules a bit. That's _exactly_ how you manipulate the time stream, Willie. You use it to gain information you aren't supposed to have." She grinned. "Then you make a killing.

"To start, I'll give you two samples. One: The Justice League, Outsiders, and Justice Society all left the planet this morning, without telling anyone but their closest allies. The people they need to 'mind the store,' so to speak. They won't return for precisely one and half weeks. The Titans are currently one member short--Starfire, one of their strongest players, is off planet. Attack them now, and they'll have practically zero backup."

            Harm nodded. _Very nice. _"Agreed. Interesting, but not altogether earth shattering. They've beaten me plenty of times without bringing in backup." He scowled.

            She didn't seem particularly fazed by his dismissal. "Fair enough. The point is, if you play your cards right, they're going to wish they _could_ call for help. Which brings us to sample number two. I assembled this myself. I hope you appreciate the time and effort that went into my research." She reached across the bar, pulling a thin, sleek, rectangular slab of plastic towards her. She pressed a button on the side, and it opened to reveal a laptop with a rather large screen. It came to life instantly, and she began typing. A set of images filled the screen a few seconds later.

            Harm's eyes widened. _Holy shit._ He gaped openly for a few seconds, before his mouth twisted into a full-toothed grin. "You really weren't kidding about delivering them into my hands, were you?"

            She laughed, the deep, throaty sound resonating in his chest. "And just think: this is only the appetizer."

            A pair of portrait shots dominated the top half of the display--one he recognized instantly as a fully armored, much older Robin--aged by at least ten years. The other clicked a second later, for it was the same person, minus the feature obscuring mask and suit. At the top of the screen, "Drake, Timothy: Robin" glowed in bright yellow lettering against the black background. Across the bottom were buttons offering, among other things, detailed residential history, physical and psychological profiles, medical history, training analysis, and--this one really caught his eyes--known relatives and acquaintances.

            "_Unbelievable_," Harm breathed, "you've verified all this? How much do you have on him?"

            She smirked. "You're pleased. Excellent. Of course I've verified it--I have all the time in the universe to check my facts. As for how much I have--I could tell you his underwear size, if you wanted. And not just him. I have files on all of them: Wondergirl, Kid Flash, Superboy, the once and future Arrowette ... And that's just the beginning."

            Already, a spark of a plan was forming in his head. He even allowed himself a few pangs of giddiness. _It's not every day someone delivers you the world on a platter._ He sneered. "This isn't the sort of information you use just to kill someone, Pansy."

            She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What is it, then?" She was smiling, as if she already knew the answer.

            He grinned. "This is the sort of dirt you use to _break_ someone. To strip them of everything and make them _beg_ for death."

            "I thought you'd say something like that. Good form. Now what?"

            _The fun starts._ He sat in a stool next to her, grinning from ear to ear. "Order your pizzas, then show me _everything_."

* * *

            Tim moved to inspect himself in the full-length, solid silver mirror next to his bed. _Authentic Knights jersey ... check. Worn yet clean jeans that won't cook me in the stifling heat ... check. Comfortable sneakers ... _he looked down, at red and blue tennis shoes branded with the symbol of the Man of Steel. _Bruce really needs to market better ... check. Beautiful girl looking forward to seeing her first Major League Baseball game ..._ he grinned. _Check._ He glanced at a shoebox sitting on his bed. _Impromptu gift for said lovely baseball fan ... check._ He regarded the box thoughtfully. _Hope you would approve, Mom._

He looked around his private domain, and couldn't resist a sigh as the memories of the first time he'd seen this room came flooding, unbidden, into his mind. The night Stephanie had come for him, after all the punches were thrown, thugs thrashed, and allies rescued from imminent death, just before the police had arrived to cart a very livid Two-Face away, Batman--limping sharply and several shades too pale--had cornered him, looked at him with the closest thing to pleased shock Tim figured he could ever expect from the man. He had simply said, "A room will be prepared for you."

He had turned away then, melting into the shadows. The last thing the reborn Robin heard was Bruce Wayne: "Thank you, Tim." He had been so shocked he didn't notice Dick and Cassandra until they caught him in a double bear hug, the former's face betraying concern even through his amazed grin, bloody nose, and domino mask, the latter almost giggling, despite numerous injuries: "Welcome ... back." His only response had been to gesture in the direction Batman had gone, and suggest they find the man before he passed out in the Batmoble. There would be time for pleasantries later, when he was sure everybody would still be breathing when the sun came up.

            By the time Leslie finally released all of them and Tim made it back to Wayne Manor--that night, he did not know if he would _ever_ go home again--Alfred, looking all at once amazed, relieved, and furious (at his father, Tim would later learn, for news of the elder Drake's ultimatum spread rapidly), calmly directed him to a "small guest bedroom" Bruce had ordered prepared for him.

            Small, in the sense that it didn't deserve its own zip code. It was easily three times the size of his room at what used to be home, with white carpet that felt like fur against bare feet, four-post queen bed with navy-blue curtains, crisp linen paint, an assortment of consumer electronics and other things he had managed to remove from his old room without getting caught, and an awesomely large solid oak desk that, according to Alfred, had been used by Joshua Wayne--an Underground Railroad conductor who had given his life to preserve the safety of the men, women, and children who used the caves under the manor to rest on their way to freedom. _Awe inspiring _and_ morbid. Only in this house._

            "Not that I feel I must tell you how to groom yourself, Master Timothy, but traditionally, when inspecting one's appearance in front of a mirror, one actually _looks_ into said mirror, not at the furniture, fine as it may be."

            Tim started, then looked back, grinning at Alfred. The elder man was dapper as ever in a complete tuxedo, regarding him with a small smirk. _Probably thinks I was having inappropriate thoughts about our guest. I wish._ "Sorry, Alfred. Guess my mind wandered." He shrugged. "You know, you're pretty good at sneaking up on people who are supposed to be unapproachable. Not that I have a giant ego or anything."

            "Perish the thought." Alfred smiled thinly. "There was a time, Master Timothy, not so many decades ago, when I was regarded as one of the most capable men in Her Majesty's Secret Air Service. As you well know, reputations are not built on rumor alone."

            "For sure." He blinked. It was still weird to think of Alfred as one of the Queen's greatest spies. It didn't help that he hardly ever talked about it. "I never have asked ... what made you decide to take up but--your current occupation?" _Almost called him a butler. I must be losing it._

            Alfred's voice remained flat. "Simple. Once I grew weary of the stage, I wanted to spend my remaining years in the employ of a nice family, doing clean, honest work. I figured it would be ... a calm and relaxing experience." His lips were twitching up, but he fought them admirably.

            Tim was having considerably less luck with his own smirk. "Ah."

            Alfred straightened his bowtie. "Ready to go, Master Timothy? I assume you have everything you need for your outing."

            Tim grabbed the box, tucking it under his arm. "Sure. Thanks for picking us up from the hotel, by the way." He grinned sheepishly. "And bringing me some street clothes." _Really should've thought ahead._

            "My pleasure, young man. As much as I would have loved seeing the expression on that oaf of a concierge's face when we passed through the lobby, we couldn't have you announcing your identity to half the tourists in Gotham." He looked thoughtful. "Though I fear I may have caused Miss Hayes some distress upon my arrival. Perhaps I should've called ahead."

            Tim waved a hand dismissively. "You caught her sleeping like a baby, and me half-clothed. I think she was worried you'd make ... assumptions ... about our evening." He smiled, remembering the way she'd blushed and shooed them out of her bedroom so she could get dressed, going so far as to lock them out. _At least she wasn't upset with me._

            The Englishman smiled. "Nonsense. Miss Hayes is quite the proper young lady ... if not slightly naïve. But I'm sure that will clear up rapidly now that she is free to participate in normal society again."

            _That's what I told her ... but it didn't sound nearly as eloquent._ Tim grinned. "She enjoys that ... getting to be normal, I mean. When we went to the Olympics to see Cissie and the archery team, she was upset because she wouldn't be able to just sit in the stands with us, in case A.P.E.S. or the D.E.O. spotted her. I let her hide in my binoculars so she could see ... but it wasn't nearly good enough." _I knew it then, and I didn't say anything. It was the best I could do._

            "I can only imagine how trying such subterfuge must have been for her. As for you, Master Timothy, I'm happy to say that you are a model of chivalry that should put your peers to shame. And, to settle matters, you _were_ wearing pants." A smug look crossed the gentleman's features.

Tim blinked. _At least he didn't say anything about "capable hands."_ "Thanks, Alfred."

"My pleasure. Now, enough brooding--you are _not_ Master Bruce, young man. I believe there is a young lady waiting for you downstairs. I shall prepare the car for our journey to the Knightsdome. Off with you."

Tim grinned from ear to ear. "Yes, sir." He grabbed a very dirty, very worn Knights cap and smashed it down over his wild hair--there was no point in gelling up a 'do just to destroy it. Winking at Alfred, who was now gracing him with a full grin, he left the room.

* * *

            Tim took full advantage of the fact Alfred was still in his room doing ... something, and after making sure he had a very good grip on the box, hitched himself up on the banister, sliding down the spiral staircase with a light kick off the wall, carefully placed so as not to leave a noticeable smudge. _Yahoo!_

            Okay, so maybe he did spend just a _bit_ too much time with Dick. _But who wants to be a goody-two-shoes?_

            After he bypassed the second floor, and the first came into view, nearing with speed that should have alarmed any sane person, he planted his palm on the railing, snapping his legs up as he vaulted into the air, grinning and pulling his knees into his chest as polished marble and glazed wood orbited around him. He managed three full spins before his feet found the floor. He knelt for a moment, frowning lightly. _Dick can do four from the same jump point._ The look evaporated, replaced with a smirk. _Show off._ Tim's ears were suddenly filled with the sound of light clapping. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Hi," he said, tipping his cap.

Greta stood in dark jeans and a blue shirt emblazoned with a giant yellow three-eyed smiley face. Her head was cocked to one side, and she looked more than a little amused. " Nice moves." She giggled. "You never do like to do things the easy way."

            He stood and walked to her, their lips meeting briefly. "A wise man once said it's all about the journey. So what's wrong with spicing the journey up a bit?"

            "I'm not complaining." She blushed. "I've always loved watching you move."

            "Th-thanks." He felt his own cheeks flush, but found the sensation not unpleasant in the least. "You look wonderful."

            She raised an eyebrow. "I'm wearing jeans and a shirt I got for ten bucks at Target."

            "So? What you're wearing doesn't have a thing to do with how pretty you are."

            She shifted. "I think you spoil me sometimes, Tim."

            "I only speak the truth. You ready?"

            She nodded. "You know it. Baseball's great ... even if I can't seem to figure out how to get the bat to hit the ball when we play with the guys," she finished with a pout.

He grinned. "Don't worry. I don't think anyone's going to try to play us for the fate of the planet again." He tilted his head, pretending to regard her critically. "You know, now that I think about it, something _is_ missing."

            Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

            He nodded. "You're going to an open stadium game, and it's a sunny day. You need a baseball cap." He pushed the box into her hands, feeling suddenly nervous.

            She stared at it for a second. "For me?"

            He smirked. "No, I just go around giving pretty girls boxes so I can rip them away at the last second and taunt them. Yes, for you." She punched him lightly in the shoulder--barely more than a tap--and started to open it. "Now, I know it's not brand new, but there's ... um ... a reason for that." He suddenly began to wonder if this was such a bright idea, but it was too late to back out now.

            She looked a little confused, but opened the box anyway, fishing out an old style Knights cap. It was indeed worn and slightly frayed, but was in far better condition than Tim's own. She looked at it thoughtfully, then at him. "Tim?"

            He nodded. _Okay, she's not calling you cheap ... keep going._ "When I was six, my father and mother took me to my first Knights game. I don't remember all of it, but I do remember going through the stadium's main gate with all the people, and the cheering, and the music, and thinking it was one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen. My dad brought all three of us baseball caps--mine was huge on my little kid head, but he said I'd grow into it."

He tapped the bill of his own cap. "We never missed a game, and we always wore them ... it was part of the ritual of going, I guess, something that connected us with the magic of the game. We went for years--until my mother died. After that, it sort of fell off. We'd make the occasional game, but it was ... different. Dana's not much of a baseball fan. That," he gestured at the felt head covering in her small hands, "belonged to my mother. My father gave it to me after she died, and I've kept it in that shoebox ever since." His voice quickened. "I'd sort of ... like you to have it." _There. That wasn't _too_ hard._

            "Oh ..." She turned it over in her hands, rubbing her fingers across the bill. He knew from experience how it felt: soft, pliable, slightly fuzzier than it was supposed to be. "Tim, I'm ... honored that you would want me to have this, really, but ... um ..." she trailed off.

            Tim was unfazed, speaking fast. "I'll buy you a new one if you want. I'm not trying to be cheap, I swear. I just--it sits in that shoebox at the bottom of my closet collecting dust, and that just doesn't seem right. But I've never really known what to do with it." He shrugged. "I've sort of been wanting to give you something of hers--I've never wanted to do that with anyone else--I don't have access to any of her other things anymore, and I'm not sure Dad would let me have any of it now anyways. And, given the occasion, I thought, you know ..." He cleared his throat. "She's not around to meet you, Greta, but--she would have loved you, I know. This is one little part of her I can share with you, if you want. I'm sure she's up there right now," he felt a small lump in his throat, "groaning cause I couldn't come up with something better to give you."

            She was looking embarrassed now. And blinking hard as she no doubt tried to process the jumble of words that had escaped his lips. "That's not what I meant. I don't care that it's old--this is one of the sweetest things you've ever done. But, I mean, I _can't_ take this. It was _your_ mother's. She would want you to have it."

            He smiled. "She wouldn't want it just sitting in a box like some morbid artifact, either. That's why I've always packed it away. On display, it's just a reminder of someone who's gone. She would want it put to good use--donated, or something. But like I said, I could never bring myself to do that. You need a cap. And hey," he grinned, "this way it's staying in the family."

            She looked up at him, eyes slightly wide. "Family?"

            _Forever._ "That's what I said. And you know I don't lie. Not to you."

            She looked at the old hat, before easing it on her head. "You're ... indescribable, Tim. Thank you."

            He dipped his head, delivering a swift kiss that turned out to be not so swift, after all. "So are you."

            He didn't know how long they stood there, gazing at each other, but figured they probably could have kept it up all day if it hadn't been for the intervention of one grinning old Englishman. He was standing next to the door, a Rolls-Royce purring powerfully behind him. "Master Timothy, Miss Greta, I hate to interrupt, but we really must be going if we're going to make it in time. The drive can be a bit long in traffic, so I daresay you will have plenty of time to do whatever it is young people do in limousines once the privacy wall is in place." With that, he turned and walked out to open the passenger door.

            Greta sputtered. "Did ... uh ... he just encourage us to make out?"

"I think you could interpret it that way." Tim grinned. "And I've always said it's best to follow Alfred's orders." He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Shall we, angel?"

            She leaned into him and grinned. "We'd better. I'd just _hate_ to make Alfred mad."

* * *

            Harm, still in street clothes and mostly unarmed, wrinkled his nose as he walked in between two piles of decaying fruit. "This _reeks_, Pansy." _A junkyard. All those detailed computer files and graceful speeches, and she brings me to a _junkyard_ to acquire underlings._ But he couldn't bring himself to doubt her, not after what she had spent the morning showing him. _Timothy, Cassandra, Cecelia, Bartholomew, Connor, Anita ..._ he mouthed their names silently, grinned. He'd read something once, about how saying the name of a fey made it powerless. He didn't know if that old quote was based on fact, but simply knowing the names of his chief rivals felt quite ... empowering. There were the others, too--their advisors, but he didn't feel the same thrill when he learned all their secrets. They were just obstacles, holding no emotional significance. And they would fall soon enough, just like all the others.

            She punched him lightly in the arm. "What'd you expect, Willie? Some big landscaped building with a neon sign that said 'Private Unholy Armies 'R Us?' You know it doesn't work like that."

            He narrowed his eyes. _Watch it._ "Of course I do, but this is certainly _not_ what I had in mind when you said you had connections." He stepped in something wet and squishy. "Damn it."

            She laughed. "Okay, so it is nasty as hell--well, maybe that's an overstatement. Sanitation isn't exactly one of Hell's problems. But seriously--you know the rule: the more powerful a demon is--"

            "The better he hides. And the best," he stepped over a small puddle of green goopy liquid he couldn't identify, "hide in plain sight. Buzz told me this. Union rules or something, right?"

            She smirked. "We have our ways. It's very important to be a part of a tight-knit community when you do what we do. You know, networking and all that." She cocked her head. "Then again, maybe you don't."

            _What's that supposed to mean?_ "I prefer working alone," he smiled at her, "most of the time. Besides, I'm not a demon."

            Her hair swayed in the junk-scented breeze. "Not much of a human, either," she said serenely.

            He laughed. "Who wants to be human? They're weak. Slow. Powerless." A smirk. "Mortal. I'm none of those things."

            She whistled. "No, you certainly are not. And here we are." She stopped in front a small, dilapidated wood building that looked to be rotting from the inside out.

            Harm followed her gaze, and it was all he could do not to groan. "Fast Eddie's Mounds of Stuff? _That's_ what this place is called?" _I miss Darkseid._

            She nodded. "There's mounds. There's stuff. So yeah. Come on. I believe you've got people to kill." She started walking.

            _Very well. Eyes on the prize._ He put on his best superior scowl, perfectly mindful she would know it was a show. "Lead on."

* * *

            The inside of the office--if you could call it that--was nothing if not a microcosm of the junkyard at large. The walls and floor were practically invisible, hidden behind and under random trinkets and gizmos. Several larger items were suspended by chains from the ceiling--including a couple candy apple red bikes that looked like they belonged in 1950 and what looked like an engine of some sort, bigger than his torso. There could be no more than four square feet of actual carpet to walk on. He was seized with the admittedly child-like urge to pull something out of one of the massive piles, and see if he could bring the whole thing down. _But that would _not_ make a good first impression. And in any business transaction, first impressions are everything._ He sniffed the air, finding it vaguely musty. _Someone should really tell this guy that._

            Pansy weaved her way between stacks of refuse and found an empty counter, replete with 1960s Soder advertising poster, and rang the little silver bell next to the handwritten "Call for Service" sign. "Eddy! I'm back!" Harm raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It just didn't do any good to attempt understanding her.

            "Pansy, dear?" a deep voice responded. Harm heard shuffling in the back room, and then a figure emerged. He was tall. Slick white hair pulled back into a ponytail, matching goatee, and ice blue eyes stood out sharply against dark chocolate skin. His three-piece, expertly tailored suit stood out sharply against the entire establishment. Edward smiled broadly, revealing white, even teeth, then leaned across the counter and pecked her on the cheek. "Oh, wonderful! You've brought a friend." He put out an arm. "Spires. Edward Spires. Welcome to my kingdom. I assure you the mess is just for show. Can't have those meddling humans figure out what I really do, can we?"

            _Which would be?_ Harm took it and shook vigorously, with every intention of informing the man he could crush every bone in his arm if he so chose. To his surprise, he found his strength matched--indeed, the pressure on his hand was mildly unpleasant. The man's face was still serene. _Intriguing. This one's powerful._ "Harm." He hitched something resembling a smile on his face. "Nice to meet you."

            "Pleasure's mine, Harm." He waved a hand, and Harm heard several clicking noises behind him, as all the window shades abruptly fell closed. He guessed the building was now sealed. "I've been expecting you. Glad to see you accepted my girl's offer."

            _Your girl?_ It would do no good to be cocky for the time being. He grinned. "How could I not? She's offered to help me decimate my greatest enemies in mere weeks, instead of decades. And once they're gone ... the real fun can start."

            Spires chuckled. "Such spirit. You're quite deserving of your reputation, Mr. Hayes."

            _What?_ Harm carefully kept his face neutral, in spite of Pansy's giggles. "You know who I am, too?" _How annoying._ "No offense, but I thought I'd done a better job of keeping my identity secret."

            "Aww," Pansy cooed, "now you've made him uncomfortable, Uncle Eddy. He got all hissy when I first showed up, too."

            Harm's eyebrows shot up. _Uncle? And I thought _my_ family was messed up._ "I'm fine, Pansy. Though I would like to know just _how_ you know who I am, Mr. Spires."

            "Like I said, young man," Spires rumbled, "you've got a reputation. And not just for trying to kill the Pope and coming back from the dead--plenty of people are as audacious as hell and know how to be at the right place at the right time. No, we've all had our eyes on you for a while now. You're one of a very special pair."

            Harm frowned. _Pair?_ _What's that little tramp have to do with this?_ "You mean Greta. Sister Dearest."

            Another calm-faced nod. "Correct, William. Though I don't know why you resent her so. If not for her, you wouldn't have any of your oh-so-useful powers."

            The younger man sneered. "I have my reasons."

            "You're just pissed because she chose Bird Boy over you, Willie," Pansy cut in. "Not much you could have done, really. Historically, Bat-guys have been, are, and always will be incredibly attractive to the opposite sex. Something to do with the mask and the stoic bit. I've also heard that little Timmy can, or rather will, be a demon in the--"

            "_Pandellion._ Your language, if you please." Spires crossed his arms. Pansy laughed it off.

            Harm's eyes bugged slightly. _How can she know--?_ He shook his head. "You can't begin to understand what you're saying." He was willing to indulge her--more than willing, in light of everything she had to offer--but this was getting a bit out of hand. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought so.

            Spires shot Pansy a withering look, then cleared his throat. "If I may, _young lady_, I don't think Mr. Hayes came here to discuss his sister's romantic affairs. As I was saying, William, the two of you are very special. You no doubt know your sister was chosen by the Presence to counteract the evil you introduced into the world through your contract with Buzz."

            _Darkseid told me all this._ "A non-issue. Her metagene was deactivated. Her link with the Abyss is severed. She's as weak as a kitten now."

            "That may be," Spires said with a nod, "but destiny is not so easily altered. You, young man, were given the potential to achieve great power in this realm by acts of what humans consider great evil. Greta , though harboring an abnormally high potential for wickedness, is fated to be a force of great good--the occasional bump in the road not withstanding. That is why Darkseid could not keep control of her. Timothy Drake simply gave her an opportunity to get back on her proper path--oh, don't look surprised. You're not the only one who has seen those files." This seemed to neither bother nor excite him. "She may be a warder of the Abyss no longer, but when you strike, she will stand against you. And she has plenty of influence at her disposal. After all, is she not at this moment the caretaker of your most capable opponent's heart?" He laughed lightly. "David slew Goliath with a mere stone."

            Harm found himself nodding. "I'll keep that in mind." For some reason, this holier-than-thou preaching was a lot easier to stomach than Pansy's brand of erratic, wonton flippancy. It also happened to be good advice. Still, he found himself appreciating her eccentric behavior for ... other reasons.

            The older man cleared his throat. "I think we might be getting a little off track here. My darling niece has given you her piece of the puzzle--the information she assembled on the Titans and their allies. Such a talented researcher she is. And now you're here because you want manpower, correct? In fact, if I know you--and I know you better than you might think, Mr. Hayes--you've already got a plan. You just need the grunts to pull it off."

            _Finally. Pay dirt._ He smiled thinly. "Right on both, Mr. Spires."

            The black man shrugged. "Of course I am. I suppose you're wondering just where in this heap of junk I keep my minions-for-hire?" He chuckled. "I'm not an empath, William, but the look on your face when you entered my establishment was quite priceless."

            _I'm not surprised._ "You could say I'm curious, yes."

            A nod. "Fair enough. A visual demonstration, then." He reached under the counter, and pulled out a jar with a spider in it. Harm recognized it instantly as a Black Widow, the red hourglass pattern unmistakable. It was huge, and doing its best to find a way out of the jar. Spires shook it, only aggravating the arachnid further. He looked at Harm. "Catch." In one fluid movement, he unscrewed the top and flung the spider through he air, straight at the teen.

            Harm reacted swiftly, snapping a hand out and catching the insect just before it hit his nose, feeling a bite sink into the flap of skin between his thumb and index finger as harmless venom was injected into his flesh. He frowned, smashing it in his grip until he felt it stop struggling.

"Nice reflexes, Willie," Pansy lilted. "If you'll excuse me, I need to attend to my ... herb garden. I'll leave you two to deal." She winked at Harm. "Later, Ladykiller." And with that, she left the room.

Harm watched her go, throwing the small, goopy, mangled carcass on the counter and wiping his hand on his jeans. She would, he was sure, return, and she wasn't really contributing that much to the present meeting. "Cute," he snarled. _Maybe you _are_ just as bizarre as your niece._

            Spires smirked. "Not really. That was my favorite spider. Oh, well," he cupped a hand over the smashed creature, hiding it from view, and Harm saw his eyes flash silver, "he's better off now." When he pulled his hand away, the spider--once again whole, easily twice as big as before, with visible, oozing fangs and glowing red eyes--scurried to its feet and turned towards the shopkeeper. He held up the jar. "Back in you go." It leapt into the jar, and Spires reapplied the lid, returning it to its place under the counter. "I'll have to send him after those damned alley cats later. Those little bastards keep me up all hours of the night."

            Harm blinked as realization struck. "You're a necromancer." He found himself suddenly impressed. Manipulation of the dead was one of the more obtuse occult arts. He was also suddenly thrilled. With a being such as this on his side, he would have all the manpower he needed, and more.

            Spires scoffed. "If you want to call it that. But it's about more than just raising the dead, William. Animating a rotting corpse and making it lumber around--with flesh hanging off its bones and maggots eating what's left of its innards--is a child's game. It's also damned unprofessional when you're in the business of providing people like you with soldiers. No, what I do is different. Just as your sister once had command over death, I have command over _life_. What I choose to imbue with that gift, however, is in this instance up to you. Just tell me what you want, and how many." He strummed his fingers on the counter. "Interested?"

_Oh, yes._ Harm grinned. "Very."

The dark man regarded him carefully. "There is, of course, the matter of payment."

            _Of course._ "I want your services, Mr. Spires. Name your price."

            Spires nodded. "It's simple, really. I understand the value of bartering. For example, I do plenty of favors for Pansy, and in return she brings me certain artifacts from the past whose whereabouts in the present are unknown. What I want from you is much simpler."

            Harm raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

            "I know you likely want the former members of Young Justice and their close allies for yourself, but I'd ask you ... share."

            _Now _that's_ unexpected._ "Who do you want?"

            Spires' mouth fell into a thin line. "I really couldn't give a damn what you do with the rest of them, but the one called Raven ... she's _mine._"

            Harm considered for a moment. "I ... have no problem with that."

            In a maneuver reminiscent of Pansy, the necromancer clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Come into my office, and we can discuss your exact needs." He snapped his fingers, and a door to Harm's left he hadn't noticed before--_Because it wasn't there_--opened slowly. "Follow me, Mr. Hayes."

            Harm grinned. "Gladly."


	3. Bad Moon Rising

A/N: See Chapter 1 for full notes. Special thanks to VirtualFaerie for beta-reading and ClassicCowboy and Vincent Hales for assistance with canon. All feedback, including constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated.

            Dana opened her front door and stepped into an absolutely blazing Saturday afternoon. She was just in time to see the weekend postman, a little old man named Nate, chug away in his twenty-year-old mail mobile. She sighed. _At least we didn't have any packages._ He was too distrustful of "young hooligans" to risk leaving any sort of large parcel on their doorstep, which made avoiding him on such occasions all but impossible. And Dana really, _really_ preferred avoiding him.

            _Old people are too damned observant_, she thought, heading for the mailbox. The grass was warm and crinkly under her bare feet. Nate used to like Tim because he wasn't "a delinquent punk," and took great interest when he apparently ran away. Dana leaned on the mailbox, frowning before she could stop herself. _Opportunistic little bastard. _He'd done his part to make sure her family unraveled as much as possible.

            When Tim left, they worked up a makeshift story about him staying with a friend. _Well, I worked up the story. Jack brooded and drank enough vodka to fry an elephant's liver, grunting when necessary_. _But it wasn't a lie, not really. Bruce is Tim's friend ... I think._ Figuring out where Tim went was easy. Jack was sure Bruce would want him as close as possible "to finish his brainwashing." But she liked to think even the Batman had enough of a heart to make sure Tim had somewhere warm and safe to sleep, and had the bitter pleasure of being right. Not that it really mattered. Tim's room was empty, and the third Robin once again prowled the night.

Their story lasted all of three weeks with only a few tweaks--_"Oh, we're remolding his room. Can't have him in there with paint fumes, you know..."_--before Nate, in typical nosy old man fashion and assisted by the powers of the United States Postal Service, rather handily blew it all to hell.

He cornered her under pretense of not wanting to leave a box of vitamins out in the open, and casually let it drop that he had seen a number of interesting items related to Tim--including an official USPS Address Change Card. Looking back, she knew she should have felt hurt hearing about something so important from a snarky old coot, but at the time she just thought, _this is really it. He isn't coming back._ Standing on the doorstep all those months ago, she realized just how gaping a hole his departure had left in her life. When he attempted to make contact months later, she considered it a not-so-small miracle.

Nate had asked what was going on, going so far as to sound genuinely concerned about Tim. _Right._ She hadn't felt up to digging herself deeper into a failing lie, nor did she care about protecting Jack's reputation--just looking at him was still very much a chore in those first weeks. She admitted that Tim and his father weren't getting along very well, and the teenager was staying with Bruce Wayne, a friend of the family, until things calmed down. _After all, how much damage could one little old man do?_ She laughed, a cold, bitter sound. _God, I was stupid._

Nate proved himself discreet as a sugared-up toddler. Within five days the entire neighborhood knew. Tittering and awkward silence became the neighbors' standard greeting. She was naive enough to think that would be the worst of it.

Then, with no actual facts to go on (_And why would _those_ be necessary?_), the rumor mill fired up. Tim's athletic body, frequent injuries, the trouble Jack had with him, his habit of disappearing for days--he was surely some sort of high ranking lieutenant in one of Gotham's more vicious street gangs. She didn't know how to tell one from another, at least not then, but the mere insinuation made her livid. Even Jack was furious, though he tried his best not to show it. _Until he decked that Flanders bastard_. She smiled. _At least he didn't throw the first punch._

As if that weren't enough, their lovely neighbors dredged up old rumors about Bruce Wayne, the playboy socialite who couldn't manage to hold a stable relationship with a woman but seemed to really enjoy taking in troubled young boys. She found herself and her husband plunged into the Wayne pedophilia legend--something she had never heard of. _I guess not being born in the social elite has its advantages._

The situation did have one plus. She found herself looking to Jack for support, and he delivered. Nothing could completely mend their relationship overnight, but it did force her to remember why they were together--Jack could be quite the compassionate, sweet man when he chose.

Most of the terribly vicious rumor mongering died out eventually_._ It turned out certain people in her neighborhood had a marked problem with fidelity. She grinned. _And it all came to light about the time Tim and I got back in touch._ She figured a certain Urban Legend had seen to getting the communal subject changed, but was giving up hope of ever getting him to admit it. He was damned good at dodging questions, though he _did_ have a problem keeping mischievous grins in check sometimes. It wasn't like she was angry in the least; she just _really_ wanted to know how he'd done it. She shook her head, suddenly aware of a cool bead of sweat sliding down her spine, and blinked. _Daydreaming against a mailbox in blistering heat. Smart. Better get back inside before things start sticking. The last thing I need is the Williamsons' son ogling me. Again._ Shepulled the flap on the mailbox and grabbed a handful of mail.

Dana had almost made it to the door when she heard it--a high-pitched, airy voice she knew all too well. "_Well!_ Dana! Fancy seeing you out, you little recluse!"

Dana frowned, glad her back was to the other woman. _Don't worry. I'll do my best not to let it happen again._ She briefly considered just bolting for the door, but she had already stopped in her tracks and jerked her head up. Fleeing now would just encourage her. _And she _so_ needs encouragement._ Plastering something vaguely like a smile on her face, she turned around. "Amanda. What a _surprise_. I was just thinking about you." _Now be a dear and go back to trying to seduce your pool boy. Shoo._ Not for the first time, she found herself wanting to ask Tim how to avoid being snuck up on.

Amanda Dawson was about Tim's height, slim, and blonde in all the worst ways. Her midnight blue eyes promised she was looking for the slightest thing to pass judgment on. She was twenty-seven, living high on Daddy's money, the neighborhood's chief gossip, a feature reporter for the local Fox affiliate, and went through courtiers fast enough to make Bruce Wayne look dependable. Her openness about the quality and quantity of her relationships made her impervious to what Dana liked to think of as Tim's retaliatory strike, which left her free to continue leading a small band of true believers in persecuting her stepson.

Amanda smiled, unnaturally white teeth shining in the sun. "Why, I haven't seen you in weeks. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me. How's that _darling_ husband of yours?" There was an especially interested lilt in her voice when she asked that question, and Dana felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. She inhaled deeply, the scent of summer not so calming as she'd hoped.

_Why, if you actually bothered to think, Amanda, the world would be a far better place._ "Jack's just fine. He's inside watching the Knights game. I'll be sure and tell him ... you said hello."_ Tart._ She slid the mail she was holding into a pocket, and made a show of massaging her hands.

Amanda nodded, her eyes never once leaving Dana's, as if looking for some sign of untruth. "Oh. Well, that's good. I worry about him, you know," she mewed.

_I'm sure you do._ "Oh?" Warning bells went off in her mind, instinct trying one final time to induce escape, but she stood her ground.

"Sure," Amanda drawled on, her smile losing some of its warmth. "I mean, it must be hard on him, dealing with a wayward son without help. And the things I've been hearing about Tim ... he always seemed so nice."

_Without help? You little--_ But that was bait, and she didn't intend on biting. "They're working through their problems," _at a glacial pace_, "and I know they'll get through them eventually. As for Tim, he _is_ a wonderful young man," she let her voice drop, "despite what _some_ people might be saying."

The other woman toyed with her overall straps and smiled. "I don't mean to agitate you, Dana, really. But you have to admit, even before his mother died, Tim was becoming a bit more ... unpredictable than normal. Afterwards, well ... repeatedly going missing for days or weeks at a time? Going so far as to sneak into a Federal No Man's Land? And injuries ... I can't recall a day when he didn't look like he'd been in a street fight. You've got to admit he hasn't got the greatest image."

Dana slid her hands into her pockets, balling her fists tighter and tighter until she felt nails cutting into skin. Her voice sharpened as she spoke. "The only thing I've _got_ to admit is that you don't have a clue what you're talking about. I happen to be privileged to the truth about what goes on in my son's life, and that's one-hundred times more precious and important to me than any _image_ you might have of him."

Amanda took a step back, holding up her hands. Her smile was bigger now, but lacked any hint of warmth whatsoever. "Your son, Dana?"

_Oops. Oh, to hell with it._ Dana narrowed her eyes, the notion of putting up an indifferent front forgotten. "If you expect me to justify myself to _you_, you're more cracked than I thought." She was an instant from ordering the younger woman out of her sight, but Amanda seemed determined to have the last word.

"Aren't we touchy." Her look was superior now. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I was wrong about Timmy. I think I see what the problem is now."

She knew she shouldn't have pressed on, but Dana had a pretty clear idea where Amanda planned on going. And with memories of her previous night with the _real_ Timothy Drake, the selfless hero Amanda and her idiot friends would _never_ have the honor of knowing, it was infinitely more than insulting. "Is that right?" _Come on, give me an excuse._

Amanda's head bobbed, and for a moment she looked like she thought she was being supremely helpful. "Oh yes. I recently did an investigative piece on boys and girls like him--teenagers from affluent families who spiral out of control after the death of one or both parents ... it's quite common in Gotham, what with the crime rate as it is. Tim's a textbook case. Someone like him--smart, capable, athletic but not pure muscle--he'd be drawn to one of the more entrepreneurial groups, like the V's..."

Dana stayed silent up until that point, doing her best to let the bimbo's words pass over and away from her while she thought up a really good conversation killer, but that got her attention. Tim--_No, it was definitely a frustrated Robin talking then--_told her about _that_ gang several weeks ago. He'd shown up in an absolutely awful mood, and she'd felt it her duty to drag whatever was bothering him out into the open before he exploded.

He finally gave in and filled her in on a new, highly sophisticated, possibly multi-city organization that made a great deal of money pulling homeless young women off the streets, drugging them to the point of almost complete incoherence, and auctioning them off as many times as they could manage before what he so euphemistically called "burn out." He discovered them earlier that week, dropping in on one of their gatherings in the East End expecting to make a drug bust. He had vowed to see them eradicated, but since she could count the times they had discussed it since then on one hand with fingers to spare, she guessed it wasn't going exceptionally well. _And now this ... _slime_ ... is daring to suggest he's in league with--_ Before Dana realized what was happening, something deep inside her snapped.

Dana closed the distance between them and found herself gripping Amanda by the suspenders, her mouth twisted into a snarl as she pulled her up to eye level. Months worth of frustration and resentment finally broke free, and her mouth moved almost under its own power. "Enough! Just who the_ hell_ do you think you are? Where do you get off accusing Timothy of being _slave trader_?" Amanda's eyes widened, and Dana shoved her away in disgust. "You don't even know what you're saying, do you? Do you even know what those bastards do, or did the name just sound particularly juicy, like everything else you've spouted at me for the last year? Well, you know what?" her voice was rising now, but no longer cared. "It's over. I've done my best to turn the other cheek, but I'm through putting up with your _shit_."

She was booming now. "So here's how it's going to be. You and your flunkies lay off my family, _including_ _my son_, or I swear I'll bring a slander case down on all of you so fast and so hard your grandchildren's children will _still_ be paying damages. _Do I make myself clear?_"

Amanda staggered backwards, straightening her overalls. Her skin was slightly pale, but that annoying spark wasn't completely gone from her eyes. "You wouldn't dare," she finally hissed. "You couldn't prove anything. It's all hearsay. Besides, your husband's fortune isn't what it used to be. He couldn't stand up against Daddy's lawyers."

Dana smirked. _Idiot._ "Maybe not. But you might have heard of a friend of ours--Bruce Wayne. He would probably be very interested to hear that you've not only been destroying the reputation of an innocent young man, but also enjoy suggesting that he likes to do, shall we say, inappropriate things with little boys. And I'm sure you know how big _his_ money pile is. There's also the matter of who the judge is going to believe--a nice, well-to-do family and Gotham's most philanthropic citizen, or a single leech who can't seem to keep her hands off ... pretty much anything that breathes." Amanda's eyes were saucers. Dana smiled sweetly, and her voice calmed. "Now get your ass off my lawn before I have you removed. Don't come back." Before Dana could blink, she was already scurrying back across the street, muttering all the way. Dana took a deep breath, and another, and then another, until the quivering in her hands and face finally stopped. _Damn. That ... that ... _She blinked. There was really no way around it. _That felt good._

* * *

            Dana stepped into the foyer, easing the door closed behind her. _Goodbye witch, hello, air conditioner._ She shook her head. _I think I let my temper get the better of me._ She giggled, suddenly feeling a bit giddy. _Think? I lifted her off the ground and shook her._ Unable to manage any real remorse, she was just glad she managed to fight down her first impulse--she wanted to be the plaintiff if they _did_ go to court, and rearranging Amanda's face would make that difficult. _Wonder if she'll back off._ She thought for a moment, and smirked. _That would require the presence of a fully functional brain._ _I should've done that _months_ ago_.

            She began sorting through the mail. _Bill ... bill ... fitness magazine ... uh oh._ She held up a letter from a computer magazine addressed to Tim--one of the few things that still found its way to them--and slid it into a drawer, underneath a pile of _O_ magazines. _I'll just save that for next week. Moving on ... bill ... invitation to the McNairs' Independence Day party ... _Newport Smoked Meats _catalogue. Are we even subscribed to them? _She picked up the last parcel, raising an eyebrow. The envelope bore the seal of the Gotham City Independent School District, addressed to "The Parents of Timothy Drake." _Oh! Tim said this would be coming soon._ _At least _the school_ still thinks he lives here._ Tim never did try to change his legal guardianship. It was one of the few little things that gave her hope their situation was temporary. _Wonder if Jack would want to open this._ She shook her head, frowning lightly. _He would ... after staring at it and brooding for at least an hour._ She heard a cheer and some light clapping coming from the living room. _No reason to start that up._

Dana worked her finger under the flap, wondering what cosmic joker thought it would be fun to give the two most important guys in her life gigantic, diametrically opposed egos. There was the matter of Tim actually having a very good reason to act the way he did and Jack, well, not--but that train of thought never left her happy. She tore open the envelope and glanced over the single slip of paper inside, grinning. "Wow." _When do you _sleep_, Tim?_ She gazed at his final grade report. _Computer Science II, 99; English III AP, 96; Latin III, 93; Precalculus, 95; Digital Graphics, 89--"The teacher doesn't think I'm artistic enough."--Economics AP, 97; and surprise of surprises, General P/E, 100._ Sliding the paper back in its envelope and pocketing it, she left the room. _I'll get him something special for next Friday. He likes cheesecake ... no, he lives with a master chef, I'll have to get more creative than food this time ..._

The television was alive with the sound of announcers. "Two strikes and a man on third, with the score six-three Expos--yes, you heard that right--the Knights new golden boy, Rocky Schwartz, is taking the plate. Even if he does manage to salvage the inning, someone has to say it--one man can't carry a team, just make them look less pathetic when they loose."

_"Knock it off, Larry. Just whose side are you on? Until we figure out how to clone ol' Rocky, we'll have to make due with what we've got."_

"You tell him, Danny," Jack boomed from the couch. Dana was pretty sure he had no idea she was standing in the doorway. He adjusted his worn Knights cap and scratched his hair. "They should banish Larry to Bludhaven."

            Dana crept up behind him, tracing the outline of his trim physique under his shirt with a smile. He wasn't going to win any Mr. Universe contests anytime soon, but she'd be willing to bet her grandmother's wedding ring nothing and no one would be able to find an inch of fat on him. _Did a pretty good job getting you back on your feet, if I do say so myself._ "Aren't sportscasters supposed to be impartial?"

            "_Dana!_" As expected, Jack jumped a good six inches off the sofa, and unless she was very much mistaken, the little hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention. He looked back at her, smiling. "How long have you been standing there?"

            "Long enough to wonder if you really think Danny can hear you, dear." She kissed him on the cheek. "You didn't answer my question. Basketball announcers are far less antagonistic."

            He smirked. "That's because they don't have to deal with the Knights. Those two are paid to distract us locals from how bad our team sucks. Like Danny said, we need a lot more Rocky Schwartzes."

            She grinned, moving around the couch to sit next to him, pleased when he brushed his lips against hers. "I knew there was a reason all those companies are dumping billions into cloning research."

            He chuckled. "You're quite a bit more chipper than you were ten minutes ago."

            She nodded. "I ran into our dear friend, Amanda."

            He frowned sharply. "And that made you _happier_? Did she say she's moving?"

            _I didn't realize telling people off and getting nice report cards made me look that pleased._ "I wish. Let's just say we had a little ... discussion. I don't think she'll be bothering us for awhile."

            He raised an eyebrow. "Uh oh. No one's going to come by looking for a body, are they?"

            She shook her head. "Not today. Let's just say we came to an ... understanding. She breaks our agreement at her own risk," she finished calmly.

            "Do I want to ask for details?"

            _Hmm ... I think I prefer you in a good mood._ "Probably not." _About that, at least._ "Just do me a favor and stay out of her reach. Hussy."

            Jack's mouth fell open. "She made a pass at me ... to you?" Dana nodded. "Idiot." He sighed. "I'm sorry you had to mess with her."

            Dana shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's better this way. If you talked to her the way I do--two words: sexual harassment."

            "Point taken." He tossed a glance at the game. "Six-five. Much better. So ... any interesting mail?"

            Dana paused. She could either make small talk about bills and the mystery of _Newport Smoked Meats_, or ... _Screw it. If I can handle the bimbo from hell, he can deal with a report card. It's not like it says something bad._ "Pretty much the usual. Bills, that meat thing ... oh!" She paused, reaching into her pocket and tossing an envelope on the coffee table, "Tim's report card." _Here we go._

            The sound from the television abruptly died, and Dana could feel her husband tense--which, seeing as they weren't actually touching, was quite impressive. Or ominous. She never could decide anymore. Jack's voice was a low rumble. "Oh." He glared at the envelope. "I see you've already opened it. How did he do?" Dana didn't miss the slight accusatory note in his voice.

            She felt a spark of anger, but forced it down. It did no good. "Look for yourself," she said coolly. "Is it so hard to pick up an envelope?"

            Jack's expression was stormy. "He chose to leave all on his own. There's only one reason he would still have that sent here--to remind us he can do just fine on his own."

            _Jesus Christ! Is that what you really think?_ "All on his own? Do you really want to do this right now? I distinctly remember a certain someone telling him not to bother coming back if he put on that suit again. You gave him an _ultimatum_, Jack, and he called you on it."

            Jack's jaw was clenched now, and he was speaking in a low tone that let her know he was doing his best to control himself. "He is a _child_, Dana, living out a dangerous and selfish fantasy, nothing more. He lied to me--to you--for years! If he were doing something he was really proud of, why would he have to hide it? I'm his father--once I _finally_ managed to discover what he'd been doing, I did what any good father would do and took matters in hand before he ended up getting himself killed in someone else's blind crusade! And then he decided to defy me. As long as he doesn't want to live by my rules, he won't live in this house."

            Her own voice was throaty and dangerous. The only thing that kept her from slugging him was the knowledge, at his very core, he was motivated more out of fear for Tim than anything else. "Don't raise your voice to me, Jack. As long as we're having this conversation, let's do it like adults, shall we? I'm not going to try to explain why he's so committed to being Robin, or why he felt he had to hide everything from us. I'm not sure I understand, but I know it's doesn't have a _damned_ thing to do with playing a game. Prowling the city night after night in a war he can never win? What sort of fantasy is that?

"And you're wrong. He's not the child you think he is. A child couldn't survive fighting criminals and lunatics like he does. And as for how you 'took matters in hand,' you were really the mature one, weren't you? From putting a _goddamned_ pistol to Bruce Wayne's head--a man who could've broken every bone in your body in about five seconds--straight down to turning into Tim's jailhouse warden without even asking _why_ he chose to be Robin. Instead of trying to understand him, you took away his life, some of his best friends, and treated him like a criminal.

"And then," she felt moisture sting her eyes, "_then_, when that poor, frightened girl came asking for help, when she told Tim the lives of _three people_ were in his hands, you actually forced him to choose between going or _letting them die_. Did you think he would stay here? Really? Because if you did, well, maybe your relationship isn't worth trying to salvage." _And maybe ours is too much of a chore._

Jack's nostrils flared, but he lowered his voice. "None of them would have been in that position in the first place if they were _sane_ and left matters to the police, Dana. I was perfectly willing to allow her to call the authorities, but she was convinced that would take too long, and managed to get him to believe her. Of course I didn't try to reason with Tim when I found out--if he thought going out every night in a Halloween costume and playing Russian roulette with psychopaths was smart, there was nothing to reason _with_. I can't believe you're trying to pass off what he's doing as even remotely right. But you've chosen to take his side against me, so I guess it's understandable."

_Son of a bitch._ Dana slammed her fist into a pillow. "I never said it made me happy that he does what he does, but at least I'm trying to work my head around it. And I didn't know we _were_ taking sides, Jack. Now who's being juvenile?"

His blue eyes--the same shade as Tim's--flashed, and the short white hair on the side of his head seemed to bristle. "I don't know, Dana. How _juvenile_ is sneaking out of bed every Friday night and baking him cookies? You're just encouraging him--telling him that you believe what he does is right."

She tried to hide her surprise. _That's new. He's never mentioned that before._ "He asked to see _me_, Jack, and I wasn't going to turn him away. It's not the same as living with him. I found out he's been dating a girl--seriously--for the last six months just ten hours ago, completely by accident. But at least I know, when he comes through my window he's survived another week. Even the nights he doesn't show, there's always a call telling me why. My nightmare is the Batman appearing in his place, because Tim told me if he ... if ... if he ever dies, Bruce will ... will ..." she cleared her throat. "He's the closest thing I will ever have to a son, Jack. Yes, I'm proud of him--and I know you are--but don't you dare to presume he doesn't scare the hell out of me. But I do my best to trust he knows what he's doing, because we can't stop him, not unless you want to tell the police who he is and _really_ get him sent to prison, for a long, long time. He's made his decision--we can either be a part of his life, or not. The only thing I encourage in him is the idea that he's still a part of this family. I can't let him give up on us." _Or you._

Jack folded his arms and looked away. "And if I said I'd given up on him?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I would know you were lying, and call you a coward." She grabbed him by the shoulder and twirled him around, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I'm not going to go back and forth with you all day. I just heard that damned Dawson woman call your son a pimp that nabs girls off the street, but you know what? Nothing she thinks or says about Tim matters. You, on the other hand--you're his father. You know the truth, and he knows that. Every day that goes by that you don't try to put aside your pride and talk to him--you're hurting him, the way no one else can."

Jack actually lowered his eyes. "Dana, I..."

She held up a hand. "Just answer one question. Do you still love him?"

The response was instantaneous. "Of course! I couldn't ever stop loving him. He's my boy."

_And that's the truth, isn't it?_ Dana stood, a sad smile on her face. "Then you've got to do something, Jack," she said gently, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm not sure he believes that anymore."

She kissed him on the forehead and left the room, left the man she loved with a horribly shocked, lost expression on his face. The last thing she heard was an envelope being opened. _Don't give up on him, Tim. Not yet._

* * *

            Harm sipped a Soder and looked over the various items on the floor in his guest room. Almost everything was ready, from the freshly polished black combat boots, leather pants, matching sleeveless zip up military shirt and domino mask with red Starlite lenses (_"Presenting the proper image is vital, Pansy."_) to a pair of silenced Beretta 93R machine pistols, one loaded with armor-piercing rounds, the other modified to fire Kryptonite slugs. He walked up to a desk and lifted up a steel-mesh belt, carefully examining its compartments. _I think Timmy would agree ... it pays to be prepared._ He laughed. _Too bad we won't be giving him the opportunity. It would probably be more fulfilling to take him when he's at his best._ He thought for a moment. _Nah. Dead is dead._ He heard Pansy lean against the doorframe and smiled. "Hello, there."

           "Getting harder to trick every minute, aren't you?" she giggled. "And here I thought macho men didn't obsess over their clothes."

            He chuckled, turning to face her. "We just don't cop to unless we absolutely have to. And even then, smart girls don't harass us about it." He tried to glare, but his heart wasn't in it. Her antics were quickly losing much of their annoying quality, and he wasn't completely sure it was just because of how much she and Spires had helped him. And that thought didn't bother him too much.

            She walked to a dresser and picked up a gauntlet Harm had just finished installing fresh grapnel line in, turning it over in her hands. "At least you don't try to deny it. I don't see how you operate in this kind of mess. If I didn't know you were planning to start a massive assault on some of Earth's most powerful metas and quite possibly the best-trained human vigilante currently on the planet in less than twenty-four hours, I wouldn't believe it. I'd be thinking garage sale." Harm watched her carefully lift a C-4 grenade and examine it. "A really _spectacular_ garage sale, but still. Isn't Plastique expensive?"

            He shrugged. "Not if you make it yourself. Now put that down carefully, please. I paid 350 dollars for that leather. I'd hate to see it get incinerated before I even had a chance to put it on. Oh, and I'm guessing you probably wouldn't fare too well either. As for all this stuff ... I've been saving it for a special occasion." He grinned. "Thanks to you and your ... uncle ... that time has come." _You don't know how long I've waited for this._ "And hey, I won't have to pay that crazy French anarchist to store it anymore." _Especially since he's dead._

            "Uncle Eddy's a businessman. You represent a unique opportunity to get something he wants, for a minimal investment." She grinned at him, unnatural yellow eyes glistening just as much as her fangs. "Didn't I tell you I could make your dreams come true?"

            He returned the look. "So you did. The thought of ever having doubted you, even for a second, is highly embarrassing."

            A shrug. "Nobody's perfect, Will." She winked. "But you're not far off."

            _Huh?_ His eyebrows disappeared into his raven mane. "Uh ... thanks." _I guess._

            She punched his shoulder. "So, you said you were_ almost_ ready. What's left?"

            His grin was wolfish as he waved a hand over the cacophony of weaponry. "All this is just ... convenience. Someone once said all a properly trained man really needs in any situation," he knelt beside the bed, pulling out a guitar case, "is a good knife." He laid the case on the edge of the desk, and popped the top. Grasping its black hilt, he lifted his broadsword out of its foam rubber padding, twirling it in the air a few times.

            "_Oh_. Mr. Pointy." She ran a finger along the blade. "I was wondering when you'd bring that out. _Wow_. How often do you polish this thing? I can see myself."

            _Mr. Pointy? You are _scary_, Pansy._ "As often as I do maintenance on the ... accessories." He pressed a button on the hilt, and blue arcs of electricity sprang into life along the edges. Another, and a curtain of fire surrounded the blade. Satisfied, he returned it to its slot in the foam. "All that's left now is to prime the gas chamber."

            "Wonderful." She gestured at a set of green spheres seated in their own spot inside the case, "And these would be ampoules of your homemade toxin--I would call it your 'special gas,' but I really don't want to laugh in your face." She pointed at a dozen small silver cylinders. "Is there a reason you carry so much lipstick?" She smirked.

            _I guess I don't use those that often in the future. Not surprising._ "Potassium chloride grenades. Custom made."

            "_Oh._" She nodded in understanding. "For killing your sister."

            He nodded. "Originally, and then only if she absolutely refused to see reason. Now that she's human," he ran a hand over the blade, "there are easier ways. Still, they might come in handy."

            "Packrat." She put her hands in her pockets and leaned against the wall. "I've finished prepping my computer to initiate the data corruption program. We can set it off at the local Starbucks. Wireless net--we won't even have to enter the building. Clever use of the information I gave you, by the way--I'm not sure I would've thought of that particular approach. Too bad we can't put cameras on those poor bastards."

Harm nodded. "It'd be a hell of a lot more entertaining than most people's home movies. Probably make a decent summer blockbuster--too bad it's going to scare the shit out of anyone who happens to see it. So everything's on schedule for kickoff. Excellent."

            "Sunday, bloody Sunday." Pansy's laugh was extra throaty. "You have a nasty sense of humor, you know that?"

            He met her eyes. "I've been told I _am_ nasty," he said flatly.

            "Cool. Any sane person knows saints are ... well ... pansies."

            _Ugh. And she kept a straight face._ "That was lame, Pandellion."

            She straightened up. "Sure was. I'll tell you what. You've practically admitted you're ready to rock, so I'll make you a deal. You can either stay in here and play with your big slab of metal while I make more corny jokes, or we can do what well-prepared warriors normally do the night before a big fight ... especially one they know they're going to win."

            He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And that would be?"

            "Don't you read history?" She winked again. "Party. Have a little fun. The Vikings were damned good at it."

            _I think tomorrow will be pretty fun._ "What did you have in mind?"

            Another shrug. "Not important. There are so many interesting things on _your_ mind." She closed her eyes, her whole body suddenly quivering and rippling, collapsing in spots, expanding in others, like wax conforming to an invisible mold. Her face, from the small, full lips to the button-like nose was the color of porcelain; her bushy blond hair stopped just above the nape of her neck. Even her clothes altered themselves, growing smaller to fit her suddenly reduced frame. She opened her eyes, now a captivating crystal blue. "Yes, Billy, _very_ interesting," she whispered, in a wispy voice that was not her own.

            Harm felt his eyes bulging. _Shape-shifter. That ... explains the voice emulation._ "Gre--Pansy, what are you _doing_?" _Damn. She looks ... sounds ... just like her._ He thought for a second. _Cool_.

            She laughed. "Something the matter? You can't say this is freaking you out. She's more connected with desire in your mind than anything else, except establishing yourself as the world's greatest villain. Quite an unhealthy little fantasy, _Billy_."

            He felt some of his surprise evaporate, and had to admit the situation _did_ have its appeal. _Good thing I can't go to hell again._ "If you think so," he said coolly, "why are you indulging it?"

            "So you admit it. Good." An airy laugh. "Life is nothing but an unhealthy fantasy. The only variable is who's doing the fantasizing." She reached up, cupping his cheek in her small hand. The skin was warm, just as soft as he always thought it would be. Remembering it was a simulation was quickly becoming ... troublesome. "And your dreams ... look like fun." She sighed. "But if you'd rather do something else..."

            She trailed off, turning to leave, but Harm darted a hand out, grabbing her by the wrist. She stopped and looked at him, large eyes questioning. "I didn't say that." _This could be ... interesting._


	4. A la Mode with Ice Cream

A/N: See chapter 1 for full notes. Also note that this story does not take the events of the Hush arc into account, as I did not have access to that material. ClassicCowboy, FusionBlaster, phoenix83ad and Vincent Hales for assistance with canon, VirtualFaerie for betaing, and everyone for their kind reviews. All feedback, including constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated.

"This _sucks_, Tim." Greta had her arms folded over a white shirt sporting a proud Bugs Bunny, the ever irate Daffy Duck leaning against his right side popping his knuckles, and an unsettlingly composed Tasmanian Devil flanking his left. Tim jokingly called it her "Loony Toon Mafia shirt" the first time he saw it, but at the moment, the toons' defiant, accusatory expressions were just making him feel even worse. Greta glared past him, watching the trees pass by the window on his side of the Rolls, and sighed, a resigned sound that stung Tim's ears worse than any amount of yelling ever could. Disappointment. "Why didn't you tell me until now?"

_Because I hate putting that look on your face._ Whoever said girls were cuter when they were angry was perhaps the greatest moron to ever walk the earth. _Pissed off girls just look pissed off. Period._ He frowned, tugging self-consciously at his denim shirt and forcing himself to meet those unsmiling blue eyes. "Because I knew it would upset you. Yesterday you were so excited about the game, and I--I guess I chickened out." _I challenged _Lobo_ to hand to hand combat, and I chickened out of telling my girlfriend I might have to cancel some dates. God, that's pathetic. _ "I wanted us to have one nice, normal afternoon before ... before I ruined it."

He laughed darkly. "I could almost think it was funny--I actually get Bruce to agree, and not two hours after I tell you the good news, someone starts up an _interstellar war_ and I wind up on protect-the-world duty, not just Gotham standby. And I can say that and be completely serious. Almost funny, but not." He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was really no _way_ Gotham could keep itself quiet for two whole weeks--let alone the world. It was only a matter of time. "I'm sorry, Greta. I don't know what else to say." He fixed his eyes on his Superman sneakers, not daring to meet her eyes. Somehow, looking at the crest of the world's greatest hero was _not_ making him feel better.

A small hand fell on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Hey, wait a minute," she said quietly, a tinge of surprise seeping into her voice, "you don't think I'm mad at you, do you?"

_You should be._ He looked up, forcing himself to meet her eyes. They were watching him carefully, the disappointment still obvious. The almost snarling glare had all but melted away, a tight, concerned frown in its place. "Don't tell me this doesn't bother you. You said it yourself--this sucks."

She laughed, a short, derisive tinkle. "You bet it does. I was looking forward to having you all to myself for a while. But you have more responsibilities _now_ than before you asked Mr. Wayne for leave." She frowned. "And yeah, it stings more this way than if he'd just said no. I've had the ... pleasure ... of spending time with Mr. Wayne, and I know even with Alfred's intervention, getting him to let you off--making Bart sit through an opera would have been easier. So this sucks, hard. But there's no part of me upset with _you_."

He raised an eyebrow. "None?" He knew Greta had a temper. A magnificent, terrifying temper that had nearly gotten them all killed. _One of my more spectacular mistakes._ Sure, there were flashier screw-ups to his name, but he'd never, before or since, let a friend--more than that, now--almost lose their soul. She'd come a long way in mastering her personal demons since then, but the question remained. _I know I'd be furious with me._

She groaned, running a hand through her short hair. "You're too hard on yourself, you know that?" She grinned, shaking her head. "And for a genius, you can be _really_ dense." She winked, grabbing a fistful of his collar and yanking him out of his slouch. She leaned over, and he felt her relax into his side. "Most of the time, it's really cute."

_This is ... unexpected._ His eyebrows shot up, but he wrapped an arm around her, his lips twitching up against his will. "Most of the time?"

She grinned. "Sure. Then there're times like now--when it just makes me want to hit you with one of those Styrofoam baseball bats." She sighed. "Tim, when I first started ... when I realized I felt something for you that wasn't just friendship, you were just Robin. I hadn't even seen your eyes, even though I could tell exactly when you were looking straight into mine. I didn't care if you were really named Robin or Alvin or Big Bird or whatever--that didn't change who you were."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, faraway and wistful. "Even though you almost never let your guard down with us, you always made me feel safe, and confident, and more than that ... you treated me as close to normal as anyone did ... never let me forget I was just as human as anyone else ... until I got too confused and angry to listen. Even then, you didn't give up on me. You showed me the way back." She lowered her head. "But I fell in love with you before that, had fantasies about what it might be like if we were together." She looked up at him, blue eyes content. "And you know what? I couldn't have been more off the mark. This is nothing like I imagined. It's so much _better_."

_Nothing like I imagined ..._ He pulled her into a hug and thought about their relationship ... how it had never moved beyond friendship for so long because he simply forced himself not to consider the possibilities. He was with Stephanie, and two-timing was never an option. _What I almost missed ..._ "Really?" He felt a spark of something warm inside, and savored it. Hearing he'd outperformed a utopian perception of himself--that was a rare compliment, indeed.

She nodded, her cheek moving against his shirt in slow arcs. "I imagined being with Robin, the almost untouchable, nearly infallible vigilante you tried so hard to make sure we saw you as--you always wore the mask until I saw your face, if that tells you anything. You would leave me sometimes, on some mission with Batman or alone that you didn't want Young Justice in on. I knew, even in my fantasies, that being in love with you meant I had to share--whether I liked it or not. So this can't make me angry. There was a time it would have--too many things made me angry then--but I know the world doesn't work exactly like I want it to ... and I have to accept that."

She smirked. "So the world can have Robin: his fists and his feet, that calm, soothing voice that never falters but never gives anything away, and the rest of the shadow-you that was all I knew for so long. When they don't need him, _I_ get Timothy Drake, the hero behind the mask, his belly laugh and the smile that makes dimples in his cheeks and his blue eyes dance. All of him. Now tell me," she looked up at him, catching his eyes with her own, "who gets the better part of the bargain?"

Tim blinked. There was only one possible answer. "Me." There was a time when he would have wondered how he'd ended up with someone so ... compassionate. Understanding. Forgiving. Insightful. _Perfect._ But questioning fate was something he'd given up a long time ago. Now all he had to do was make sure he didn't screw it up.

She chuckled into his shirt, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Us, then. So here's what we're going to do. You'll probably be needed more than once before Batman and the others come back from dealing with ... _Darkseid_," she hissed the name, and he felt her shudder in his arms. He pulled her closer until she was almost in his lap as she took a deep breath. "But when we're together, we'll do what we always do. What we agreed to when we decided to see just how far an _us_ could go. I know you remember."

Tim felt a full smile coming on. He took a deep breath, remembering their first oath to each other. "Make every moment count."

"Have as much fun as we possibly can." She grinned.

He wrapped one of her tiny hands in his own. "No lies and no secrets, not when it really matters."

Her voice lightened. "Enjoy the good, don't dwell on the bad."

"Don't worry about what's coming..." he squeezed her hand.

She smiled, squeezing back. "Just be ready to deal with it when it gets here." She rolled her neck from side to side, a pair of loud popping noises filling the car, reverberating off the privacy wall. The Rolls began to slow. "And we will. For now ..." she trailed off, her voice growing serious.

_Uh oh._ "Yeah?"

She poked him in the chest. "It's Karamel Sutra time. Next time you decide I'm going to be upset at you and work yourself into a brooding mess before you've even given me a chance to react ... don't."

_Done._ He smirked. "I think I can handle that."

"Wonderful." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up until they were eye-to-eye. "And here's how to tell when I'm actually angry with you." She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. His finely tuned detective's mind ground to a sudden and complete stop, empty save the occasional thought of strawberries and _that_ taste that didn't exist anywhere else, his muscles feeling suddenly like warmed over Jell-O. She finally pulled away, and the pleasant haze retreated from his mind--leaving him with the realization that he was very, very low on air. "There'll be a lot less of that."

"Well," he gulped, trying to placate his lungs (which weren't being team players, as far as he was concerned), "I'll try to remember that."

She laughed as the car pulled to a stop. "Goody." She kissed him on the cheek. "Now come on. We don't want to keep Mr. Ben and Mr. Jerry waiting. They're important men."

* * *

Tim held open the door for Greta as she hurried past him, out of the record heat and into the wonderful air-conditioned coolness of the Double Dip, and glanced back at Alfred, standing next to the Rolls' driver's door. "Thanks for the ride, Alfred."

The older gentleman looked at him approvingly. "My pleasure, young sir. I shall always be available for those times when you horribly abuse your automobile." He smirked. "At least you have taken the rules of proper courting to heart--though the proprietors of this establishment may not appreciate your efforts to air-condition the sidewalk."

Tim raised an eyebrow, then realized he was still holding the door open. _Oops._ "I had an excellent teacher. You sure you don't want some ice cream? My treat. You've been really great about helping us get around."

Alfred's smile twitched up a notch. "Thank you for the offer, but I shall have to decline. Dr. Thompkins has informed me my cholesterol count is ... not as it should be. Besides, I must return to the manor. I expect to take delivery of your vehicle within the next few hours." He cleared his throat. "Call me when you are ready to return. Until then, Master Timothy." He bowed his head slightly, and disappeared into the car. Tim grinned and ducked into the foyer, where he found Greta alone, transfixed on one of the newspaper racks, giggling. He snuck up behind her. "Boo." She jumped, elbowing him lightly and smirking. "What's so funny?" He looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Aw, man." _Figures._ "How do they _do_ that?" _Damned paparazzi._

There, on the front page of the _Gotham Insider_, in great, bold, black letters, was the headline: "Dark Squire's Steed Befouled: Manure Spill Immobilizes Caped Crusader's Partner, Ruins Paint Job." Just underneath was an absolutely gargantuan picture of the inside of a dimly lit tunnel, packed to capacity with cars, most of which were surrounded up to the door by a dark, lumpy substance. And in the center of the shot was the Redbird, in all its freshly waxed red-paint-and-green-glass glory. And sitting on the roof, cape slung back and open, arms crossed, absolutely _miserable_ expression on his face--and a rebreather over his mouth--was Robin, the Stranded Boy Wonder. Greta grinned, and scooped one up. "You should hear Cissie talk about the people that chase her around." She scrunched up her face. "No, wait, maybe you shouldn't. Once she gets going, she's almost impossible to calm down. I had to hide in a closet and call Bart to distract her last time. He told me he was 'prepared for this emergency' and showed up in a Speedo--just a Speedo." She collapsed into another wave of giggles.

Tim sputtered. "Please tell me ... someone got ... a picture of ... _that_," he managed between laughs. Some part of him suggested being concerned that Greta had seen Bart in such revealing attire, but he quickly dismissed it--they were more like brother and sister than anything else. Which was actually pretty cool--unless it was April Fools Day. Then it was time to find the nearest fallout shelter and wait for the all-clear. He made a mental note to put that paranoid part of his brain on The List--right under his treacherous lungs.

His laughter abruptly stopped when he noticed she was rolling up one of the papers and fishing in her pocket for change. His eyes widened, horror sweeping over him. "You don't actually want to ... _buy_ one of those _things_, do you?"

She blinked at him, the portrait of innocence. "Of course. Do you realize how few professional--and I use that term loosely--pictures of Robin there are? And that look on _his_ face, it's just adorable. Don't you think, _Tim_?" She looked at him pointedly.

He blinked. Timothy Drake had no reason to be _that_ upset over a picture of the Urban Legend. But she was right about another thing--there weren't that many photos of Robin, for good reason. _Bruce is gonna kill me. Or make me run simulations till my _hair_ is in excruciating pain._ He smirked. "So you think he's adorable? I guess I can work with that. But I'm afraid I still can't let you buy that paper."

She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "And why not?"

"I enjoy buying you things." He fished a few quarters out of his pocket. "And if Alfred found I let you pay for _anything_ in my presence, the next picture you see of me will be on a milk carton."

She shook her head, grinning. "I can't believe I thought Mr. Wayne would be the disciplinarian when I met everybody." She grabbed his hand.

He started moving for the door that led into the rest of the shop. "The English Overlord prefers almost everyone think that. It aids his plan for world domination."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you, as a ... concerned citizen ... feel a little nervous about that?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I've seen the plans. I get my own island. Timland. To be ruled with my beautiful princess." _Straight face, straight face, straight face..._

She just laughed. "Fine. But we are _so_ coming up with a better name. Like ... Graceland."

Tim laughed, and pushed open the door.

* * *

The little bells on the door chimed as the two of them stepped into the bistro-style shop, and several of the patrons looked up, favoring them with cursory glances. Tim felt their eyes slide over him, then Greta, and decided later he should have expected what happened next.

The wave of applause--_Make that standing ovation_--lasted a good half minute, and involved everyone from a pair of girls that looked like they would be starting eighth grade in a couple months to a middle aged man with graying temples and a teenage son whose happy faces were tugging at more emotions than Tim cared to admit. All of them seemed to be fixed on the girl at his left, but before he could get too concerned about accidentally stumbling into some sort of cult gathering, he noticed the majority sported some very familiar baseball caps. _Oh. _That_ cult._ He grinned. _Cool._ "Looks like I'm traveling with a celebrity."

Greta looked a lot like a deer pegged by a strobe light, only somehow more surprised. She stepped closer to him. "Wha?" she whispered.

Tim guided her to a window seat as the applause died down, grinning from ear to ear. He pulled her chair out, earning a round of cooing from the older adults and appreciative noises from the women--and one very exasperated "Why can't you learn to do that, Kenny?" Greta was looking confused now, and more than a little embarrassed. She looked at him when he sat down. "Explain. Now. Please," she said quietly.

Now it was Tim's turn to look innocent. "If I had to guess," he said lightly, "I'd say they saw your stunt at the stadium yesterday--I know it was on the big board, and it probably made the network coverage." _I wonder if Dad--_ he cut himself off. _Not going there. Not today._ He grinned.

Greta blinked. Then blinked again. Then favored him with one of the most incredulous looks he'd ever seen. "You've _got_ to be kidding me. All I did was give a little boy a baseball."

_And you really think it's as simple as that. That is so cool._ "Not exactly. Not_ only_ did you manage to catch one of Rocky Schwartz's homers, but you turned without a second thought and gave it to a kid in a wheelchair. And then sat down like nothing had happened."

Greta still didn't look convinced. "What's so special about that? He really wanted it when he realized it was coming our way, and there was no way he was going to catch it on his own if he couldn't stand up. I certainly wasn't going let that fat jerk behind him get it. You _still_ haven't told me what a gip is. Whatever it was, that boy and his parents sure didn't look like they appreciated hearing it."

Tim's grin faltered a bit. "That's _gimp_," he whispered, "and let's just say it isn't something you'd want to call Barbara, either."

"Oh." Her eyebrows shot up. "_Oh._" She frowned.

_Well, that's not going to do._ "Don't worry about it," he said quickly. "I ... accidentally ... dumped nacho cheese all over that guy right before we left."

She tilted her head, that too-innocent look back again. "When I wasn't looking."

He nodded. "Right."

"Right." She fiddled with her newspaper, smirking.

"Anyhow, of course everybody who saw it loved it. The Knights suck. Bad. But we like to say we've got the best, most devoted, coolest, nicest fans in all of Major League Baseball. And you proved that in a big way." He grinned. "And I'll say it again--that was an awesome catch." That got an appreciative grin out of her, so he cleared his throat. "So, enough making you uncomfortable. May I take your order, beautiful?"

She looked thoughtful for a second. "Waffle cone, please. Definitely Karamel Sutra, two scoops."

Tim nodded. "You got it. Anything to drink?"

She shook her head. "Not right now, thanks."

He scooted his chair back. "Then I shall return." He stood, thought for a moment, and leaned forward, pecking her on the forehead. There was another, much quieter round of cooing--the adults again. _Looks like we've still got an audience._ Greta groaned, a resigned smile on her face. "You know," he whispered into her ear, "you've also got to consider the fact we probably look cute together, regardless."

"Probably?" she returned, just as quietly, shaking her head. "If we're going to be putting on a show, I think I'll need a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip, too," she mused, "in between the other two." Tim winked and wandered towards the counter, leaving Greta, much to his chagrin, reading her newspaper.

He was in line behind a woman and a pair of babbling toddlers who really didn't need anymore sugar, trying to figure out a way to track down the tunnel photographer and do very bad things to him potentially involving mass quantities of laxative when a hand clapped him hard on the back. "Tim!"

Tim managed to suppress his first impulse--elbow his attacker hard in the gut and pull him into a windpipe crushing headlock--long enough to recognize the perennially happy, somewhat haughty voice. He grinned, turning around. "Bernard!" He grabbed the carefully dressed blond boy's outstretched hand. _Anymore starch on those jeans and I could use them as a weapon._ "I thought I told you not to sneak up on me," he chided, his voice lacking anything close to annoyance.

Bernard grinned. "That's what makes it fun, Timothy. It's not every day I get to run into you completely by accident. How's it going, mystery man?"

Tim chuckled. Bernard was probably--no, definitely--the best friend he had who didn't know about his affinity for spandex and Kevlar. And being the closest thing Grieve Memorial had to an Oracle--not that he was sure Babs would appreciate the comparison--he'd taken it upon himself to figure out the conundrum that was Timothy Drake. His inability to do so frustrated the hell out of him, even though he tried to hide it. It also made him stick close to Tim no matter what, and the third Robin appreciated that more than he could say, even if it did get annoying sometimes.

Their relationship changed after word had spread that his father had kicked him out. Bernard had seemed ... angry, if only because Tim refused to be, and Tim realized he actually liked having a third party so willing to listen to his problems--at least the ones he could talk about. The days of trying to drag information out of him seemed to be over, but the blond was more eager than ever to listen when Tim wanted to talk, and made no attempt to hide the fact he would still _love_ to be in on whatever secrets Tim held. _Someday, buddy._ "No complaints. School's out, my report card is more than acceptable, and Greta," he nodded towards their table, "is spending the next couple months in Gotham. For the moment, my world is about as right as it gets."

"Glad to hear it. She has excellent taste in reading material," Bernard laughed, glancing in the girl's direction. "Still can't believe they caught the Urban Legend on film. I bet he's pissed." He chuckled. "I knew I didn't just like her 'cause she can put those adorable dopey grins on your face with a blink--besides, having a girl to impress has done wonders for your taste in clothing." He easily ducked Tim's playful swipe. "As for me, I may not be dating 'an angel' yet--Lord knows it's not for lack of looking--but things are great. Mom's starting to feel like herself again," Bernard's grin widened, "she just had a follow-up appointment. All the tests are back in. She's clean. She's even allowed to drive again. Thank God. She was getting antsy, and that's all I'm going to say about that. Thanks again for the gift basket you put together."

"My pleasure." Tim grinned, and caught Bernard in a hug before he could stop himself. "That's great news, man. Congratulations." Mrs. Dowd's gynecologist recently found a number of fibroid tumors in her uterus. They had her in for an emergency hysterectomy fast enough to make the Flash blush--and frightened Bernard nearly to death. Tim still remembered first hearing the news, when Bernard had asked to meet alone at a White Castle, and sat there, in their usual booth, clutching his tiny burgers and trembling, looking for someone to tell him the world wasn't coming to an end. _Looks like you made it to the end of your tunnel._ "How's the rest of your family?"

Bernard shook his head bemusedly. "I think the dog's jealous of all the extra attention Mom's been getting. Dad's as thrilled as I am. I'm not supposed to know about it, and I'll be dead if she hears it from me, but there's a truckload--and I do mean _truckload_--of roses and chocolate and at least one giant stuffed animal set to arrive at the Cosa del Dowd this evening. Mom's told us she's not quite up to a celebration outing yet, but that hasn't stopped Dad from throwing an impromptu party. As for me--convalescing women like Chunky Monkey, diet be damned."

Tim enjoyed listening to Bernard fill him in on the happy happenings, but at the same time, there was a momentary pang of longing in his heart. _Not regret. Never regret. I did what I had to. What was right._ The truth was, he was happier now than when he was under his father's house arrest. _Most of the time._ He blinked, shaking it off. _Later._

Bernard tossed another look at Greta, who was still deeply immersed in the tale of Robin's vehicular travesty. "But something tells me you know all about girls who can't get enough of our favorite dairy product." He shook his head. "Not fair, really."

Tim raised an eyebrow, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder. _Two more customers to go._ "What's that mean?"

Bernard shrugged innocently. "Easy, Captain Overprotective." He smirked. "She definitely lucked out when she netted you. Someday I'm gonna manage to get you two to tell me how you met--I have a feeling it was interesting. But that's beside the point. I'm just saying, she doesn't look like someone who eats a few gallons of ice-cream a week--she manages to stay gorgeous, unlike those of us who blimp if we even so much as look at a bag of chips wrong." He poked at the almost invisible pudge around his midsection, grimacing as though it were the size of a tractor tire. "Not that I'm jealous, or anything. We can't begrudge people their blessings, not in this city. She also pulls of the Warner Brothers Chic look rather well."

_Isn't that the truth?_ Tim smirked. "Hear, hear. You should tell her that. I think sometimes she doesn't completely believe me when I tell her how awesome she looks. Like I'm biased or something. Come over when you're done up here."

Bernard chuckled. "Whatever gave her that idea? It's not like you treat her like she's the center of the universe or anything." He poked Tim in the chest. "Too bad we can't all have a Timothy Drake. Or a Tina Drake, as applicable."

Tim chuckled. _Ambiguous as ever, aren't you?_ "There can be only one."

Bernard thumped him. "You spout _that_ lameness and then expect me to sit at the same table with you? No way." He stuck out his tongue. "But seriously, I've got to jet as soon as I'm done here. I just picked up our laundry. The supply of clean clothing at my house has reached critical mass." He smiled. "But tell her hello for me, and give her my compliments on that awesome catch yesterday." He winked. "I'd make a bigger deal out of it, but everybody in here sort of did my work for me. Two words, Timmy: Kodak. Moment. You're up, man."

Tim turned just in time to see the nameless mother herding her two children away. "Indeed I am."

A few minutes later, overstuffed waffle cone in either hand and a Soder bottle in the crook of his arm, he left Bernard at the counter, doing his best not to dump his cargo. _On the upside, the cashier was a Knights fan cursed with the usual mania, so Greta's ice-cream was free._ Not that he was going to tell her that. The next two months would kind of suck if she decided to go everywhere wearing a bag over her head. He licked his single scoop of Mint Chocolate Cookie (he _didn't_ have Greta's would-be superhuman metabolism, and that was perfectly fine) and wove his way back towards his seat, balancing the triple threat in his left hand as carefully if it were a nitro glycerin bomb. Dropping it now would be ... insulting.

He looked towards Greta, expecting her to still be reading. Instead, she was leaning on the table with her head in her hand, watching something in the far corner intently, a small smile on her lips. _You stopped touching the evil. Nice._ He traced her gaze, and felt a grin split his face. _Aw. Cute._

The laughing, smiling couple in the corner booth was late-twenties, white, dressed neatly but not expensively. _Upper middle class, out of college a few years and just climbing on whatever career ladders they've chosen, more than likely_. The man was broad-shouldered but probably not as strong as he looked--there were a few round curves in the wrong places--had dark blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when he laughed, a nice tan, and a gentle face framed by wild, thick black hair tied into a ponytail. The girl was about half a head shorter, hazel eyes, healthy if pale skin (_Not enough time in the sun?_), and platinum blonde hair that stopped just below her waist. But what caught his attention was the pair of babies in the two-seat carrier in between them and the way they were going at the spoonful of ice-cream in their father's hand. They were twins, a boy and a girl, with their mother's eyes and their father's hair, only curly.

Greta turned to look at him as he sat down, and her smile widened as she saw the half-frozen parcel in his left hand. "Ooh. Yummy." She took it from him carefully. "Thanks." The bottom of her face disappeared behind the tower of dairy.

Tim rotated his left wrist, willing his muscles to relax. "Anytime. I ran into Bernard. Tried to get him to come over and say hello, but he said he had to jet. He told me to compliment you on your catch," he smirked, "and your wardrobe."

Greta blushed. "High praise, coming from him. How's his mother?"

He grinned. "Better. She just got her test results back. Looks like they got everything. He was here to pick up a carton or two for her."

She smiled. "That's excellent. He's so nice. I hated seeing him so worried." A baby's laugh washed over them, and she glanced back at the family in the corner.

Tim licked his waffle cone. "Cute, aren't they?" She looked at him, confused. "The family in the corner. I saw you looking at them on my way back over. Like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting--if he painted 21st century bistro settings."

She was giving him a look that quite plainly said, _"Who?"_ but shook it off. "Yeah. The guy reminds me of you a bit ... only not so handsome. I'm not sure how that woman can deal with all that hair, though. Especially with little kids to take care of. Anita's always complaining about how Donald and Oshii are constantly trying to rip out her ponytail."

Tim laughed, enjoying the image his mind was supplying. _If you could see yourself now, Agent Fite._ Greta's face caught his attention. Did she look ... nervous? "Something wrong?"

She blinked, and shook her head vigorously, bringing the waffle cone up for another pass. "What? No, no. Not at all. It's just, I was thinking--never mind."

Tim's eyebrow quirked up, a little tiny voice in the back of his mind warning him about ... something. "What? You can tell me anything. You know that."

She nodded slowly. "It's nothing serious like that. I was just ... do you ever think about babies? I mean ... having them? Someday?" Her voice brimmed with curiosity and more than a little hope.

Tim felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water in his face. A little voice that sounded suspiciously like Kon was yelling "Danger, danger! Pull out!" in the back of his mind, but he didn't know why. This was bound to come up sooner or later. What surprised him was the fact he'd never sat down and actually thought about what he would say if it did. _Okay ... no problem. It's not like I'm a child-hating bastard. Be honest. Here we go._ "Sure," he answered. "For a while, actually." _Ever since Steph and the baby. At least I know I wouldn't run. No way in hell._ "I mean, I like kids. A lot. I see so many of them when I'm ... out. It's kind of hard not to ... consider the possibilities." He licked his treat, savoring the feeling of it sliding down his throat. When had his mouth gone so dry? _Open ended answer. Next move is yours, baby._

"And?" She took a bite out of the topmost scoop, chewing. Slowly.

"I'd love to have kids of my own some day. But as long as we're being candid, I'm in no hurry to rush it."

This seemed to be the right answer. She visibly relaxed, and the smile on her face was just a little bigger than before. "Me neither." She blushed. "I mean, I think waiting's a good idea, too." More blushing. "For anybody our age, I mean." Half the top scoop disappeared in a chomp, and Tim was surprised the rest wasn't melting any faster, seeing as her face looked like it should be giving off enough heat to warm a small house.

He put on his best reassuring grin. "What about you? Do you want children?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he suddenly wanted to hear her say it.

She looked at her hands. "I ... Someday, yeah. Children are wonderful. So innocent. You can look at them and think, no matter how bad things get, there's always light in the world if we're just willing to look for it."

Tim found himself nodding. "And they can make you believe it, too."

She smiled. "But like you said, I'm not in any hurry. There are a lot of things I want to do first."

Tim nodded. "Me too. I mean, there's the rest of high school, college, and maybe grad school. And I'd want to be married a while first and have a good job and nice house--there's no point in having a kid if you can't take care of it. I'd say no sooner than," _I'm probably pushing it_, "ten years?" And by then, he'd also know what he was doing with the rest of his life--he'd either be done prowling the night, or in even deeper than before. _If I'm not dead. _

She looked thoughtful. Thoughtful and pleased. "Make that twelve." He cocked his head. "I just got done with eighth grade, remember? I've got some catching up to do." She sighed. "But I don't know. I love kids, too. Especially babies. But ... I'm not sure I would be a good mother. I mean, I barely remember being little. I'm not sure I could handle a baby. We both know I'm missing a few things--Cassie said I just needed time to catch up. But that sort of thing's important. What if I did something stupid?" She lowered her voice. "Something that would be obvious to anybody who didn't spend five years of her life in a plastic cage," she finished bitterly.

_Whoa! Time out! _ The mental alarm he hadn't understood suddenly made all-too-perfect sense. He grabbed her free hand with his own, holding it tight, forcing her to look at him. "Hey. _Hey._ Listen--don't be so hard on yourself. I can't promise you won't make a mistake. It happens to the best parents. Look at those two over there. Giving kids that little spoon after spoon of ice-cream? They are _so_ gonna be spewing in a few hours--out of both ends." She giggled softly.

He smiled. "But when it comes to the important stuff--I've seen you with Donny and Oshi. You know how to keep them out of trouble. And more important than that--I'm sure you've seen all the baby-raising books and programs and all that in Barnes and Noble, right?" A slow nod. "It's all crap, as far as I'm concerned," he said flatly. She looked surprised, and slightly taken aback. "The most important thing a parent can do for their child is love them. Even if you've got enough money to buy all the food and clothes and medicine in the world, it means nothing if there's no love. And if there's one thing I've learned about you in the last six months that I know is _absolutely_ true, it's that you have the biggest heart in the universe. I'm lucky enough to have a place in it. And you'll always have help." He paused, wondering if he should say what he really wanted to. _Why not?_ "And there's no one else I could imagine as the mother of my children, past, present, or future."

Her eyes were saucers, but the dimples were back in full. "You ... really mean that?"

_I've never meant anything more, beautiful._ "If things keep going the way they are now," _if I survive that long, and I fully intend to do my best_, "I don't see why not. No limits, Greta. Not ever." He stared into her eyes waiting for a response.

She met his gaze, confidence blossoming across her face. "I don't plan on stopping them."

"Me neither." He grinned, licking his ice-cream cone and raising it in toast. _Anyone who tries will have to deal with me._


	5. The End of the World as We Know It

A/N: See chapter 1 for full notes. As always, thanks to VirtualFaerie for taking the time to beta-read. Any and all feedback, including constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

Barbara Gordon was angry. She had been in the middle of an absolutely lovely dream--replete with a pair of working legs, her father, Sarah, Independence Day fireworks, a lovely lake, and a great wholly golden retriever that was far too adorable for an industrial strength drool machine. The kind of dream that made her feel like a complete moron upon waking for being so stupid, even for an instant, to believe anything _that_ perfect could be even remotely real. And normally, that would have been enough to _really_ piss her off.

But it was the all too familiar wailing laugh that had really done it for her: the unnatural, demented yowl that had absolutely no place in the middle of the park where she and her dream family were supposed to be having their Independence Day picnic--or anywhere else. That had been the cue for Sarah Essen's head to explode in a shower of blood that splattered all over Barbara's face and left giant crimson marks all over her yellow sundress. Barbara and her father looked on in shocked surprise, the redhead's legs suddenly collapsing under her, completely devoid of sensation. She had opened her mouth, trying to speak, to scream, but that only made the horrible noise grow louder. Then--_And here's where things went off script_, she thought, burying her face under her pillow--Jim Gordon, looking no more perturbed than he did when Harvey Bullock showed up for a meeting with a donut clamped in his mouth and jelly oozing down his face, calmly grabbed the dog's leash and wandered into the woods.

She'd looked around, brain numb with fear, lying half curled on her stomach, vision suddenly blurred by the strands of red, wild hair that had fallen in front of her eyes, trying to find her wheelchair--and then realizing, abruptly, that she hadn't needed it when she arrived. Her eyes fell on a vehicle in the far distance--her Hummer--and she knew that she had to make it there if she hoped to escape before the ... man ... making that horrible sound found her. She started crawling through the mud and pine needles, the dampness soaking through her dress giving her chills as she reached and pulled, inching forward.

Then someone was standing over her, his strong, gloved hands sliding under her shoulders. She caught a glimpse of green Kevlar and powerful forearms as she was dragged backwards and leaned against a tree. _"Dick?"_

_"I'm afraid not, Babs,"_ a familiar voice had responded, far too cold for her liking. _"You told him not to come around anymore, remember?"_ A Robin that could only be Timothy Drake stepped out from behind the tree and knelt next to her, smirking. The night vision filters in his mask almost seemed to burn with green fire. _"And we both know he cares about you too much to go against you when you've made a decision. I just figured you wouldn't want to die with your face in the mud. Later, Babs."_ He'd turned and started to stand.

_"Tim,"_ she'd called, grabbing his wrist, _"wait. Don't leave me alone out here."_ The demonic laugh was at fever pitch now, and sounded closer than ever. _"Not with _him_. Please!"_ The Urban Legend just sneered, yanking his wrist away.

_"Hands off."_ Barbara whipped her head towards the sound, just in time to see Greta Hayes, in black jeans and matching turtleneck, stomping towards her, bangs bouncing, eyes burning with nothing short of pure rage. She stopped and knelt by the tree, grabbing Barbara by the hair and jerking her head up until they were looking each other in the eyes. _"Dick isn't coming, Barbara--you were too much of a coward for him. You lost your Robin. You can't have mine."_ Greta stood as her foot snapped up, kicking Barbara hard in the side.

The blow didn't hurt as much as it should have, but she was crumpled in the dirt again. Barbara looked back up to see Greta wrapping her arm around Tim's waist as he laid an arm across her shoulder. _"No! Greta, I don't want Tim like that--"_

Tim's voice was silk. _"Then why don't we leave you with the man that matters most in your life, Babs?_" He looked at Greta, grinning. _"Wanna catch a movie, beautiful?"_ She nodded, and they turned away, grinning and laughing. Barbara was about to call after them when she heard a twig snap in the distance. Her head snapped towards the sound, and she saw it: a flash of purple and green amongst the trees, white skin that was too bright to be simply pale. The laughing was almost painfully loud now.

Then he was in the clearing, his jaundiced eyes falling on her as his ruby red lips pulled into a particularly wide grin. He was standing over her an instant later, a leather-soled wingtip planted in her chest. She could see every etch in his horribly yellow teeth, taste the stench on his breath. He raised a spiked mallet over his head. _"Miss me, Babsy?_" He swung down, and she screamed.

She was still screaming when she woke up, anger and rage and fear all mixing together in a cornucopia of frustration and disgust. She didn't stop until all the air in her lungs was gone, and she was left panting, gulping for oxygen as she realized everything she had seen was nothing more than a nightmare. She screwed her eyes shut as her mind finally formed its first bitter, complete thought. _My subconscious is a bitch._

Wiping her eyes, she rolled over in her bed, not caring that her comforter was in a pile on the floor and her bedroom was really, _really_ cold, and pulled her pillow tighter over her head, trying to block out her alarm clock. _God, that was awful. But why were Tim and Greta there? I don't resent them._ She blinked. _Do I?_ The air was freezing against her damp skin, and her canary yellow nightshirt was sticking to every bit of flesh it could find. _And I'm certainly not jealous of Dick. I told him we were done. My decision. If he really thinks he can make it work again with Kory, good for him._ She was obviously back in the real world; her neck and shoulders felt awful and her right hand was still sore and swollen--but she wasn't getting Carpel Tunnel Syndrome, and anyone who suggested it was just asking for a beating. _But then why did it hurt so bad when Greta said I'd lost him?_ Her entire body was alive with an uncomfortable stiffness, from the top of her head to the spot just under her hips where her awareness abruptly faded into nothing and died. _Because it was a nightmare, stupid. And nightmares twist reality around until _everything_ sucks. Well, sucks more than it normally does. And what the hell's with that damned alarm clock?_

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Rooting her face deeper into the mattress, she flung a hand towards the nightstand and smashed the side of her fist against the snooze button. She wasn't going to wake completely up if she could help it. Not yet _Ah. And silence shall reign across the land._

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Barbara growled. _Wrong button?_ She snapped her arm out again, striking all the buttons atop the clock at once with her palm. _That should do it._

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

"Arrgh! That's it!" She rolled over, her head still under the pillow, and grasped the small cordless clock like a baseball before flinging it away with all the strength she could muster. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of a plastic casing shattering against the wall, and smiled triumphantly. _Eat that, you little piece of--_

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

_What--?_ Then it hit her, and the last vestiges of sleep clouding her mind melted away. Her alarm clock didn't _make_ a beeping sound. Her eyes snapped open. _Shit._ She threw the pillow aside and sat up, reaching for her glasses. _Computer system security breech. Oh, my God._ Throwing her sheets back and leaning forward to disentangle her feet, she tossed a glance at the small LED mounted just over her nightstand. _Green. I'm still alone up here._ Barbara glanced at a large clock on the wall. _2:30 in the afternoon. Way too early for my wakeup call. If I'd bothered to notice how light it was in here, I would've realized that. Idiot._ She hooked an arm under her knees and smoothly swung her legs over the side before sliding into her chair. Straightening her glasses, she set off as fast as her arms could push her. _What the hell is going on?_

* * *

Sergeant Nigel Cooper sighed, running a hand through short cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, sipping his Zesti as he blinked his brown eyes. Setting the drink on his desk, he leaned back in his chair, tugging the wrinkles out of his uniform shirt and checking his watch. _2:32._ Other than the hum of computer equipment, all was silent. "Quiet, isn't it, Karen?" _Still can't believe I managed to get the Metropolis JLA Teleporter Hub Security post--definitely better than Vice Squad--I'm getting too old to chase down juiced up junkies. Somebody up there must be watching out for me._

Officer Karen Dowd looked up from the communication terminal at his left and smiled. "I've only been here a couple weeks longer than you, but think I prefer the quiet, sir. It means everything's as it should be. Whenever any of _them_ come in, you can just tell there's gonna be trouble." Her blue eyes were bright and betrayed the brevity of her eighteen months on the force--not yet dimly haunted with the echoes of some of the nastier things the City of Tomorrow did its best to hide.

He offered his own small grin. "Excellent point. Guess I just wasn't expecting things around here to be so ... relaxed today, even if it is a Sunday. Guess no one's stupid enough to try anything in Superman's backyard." _Which is what S.T.A.R. Labs is, really. This place _screams_ abnormal. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing._ The whole building couldn't be more than 1500 square feet, and looked about as interesting from the outside as a dentist's office. _A dentist's office with a twelve-foot barbed-wire fence and one of the most advanced security systems on the planet, but still._ "Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, kid: for the last time, stop calling me 'sir.' There's no brass around, and you're making me feel _old_."

She smirked, swiping her red hair out of her eyes. "Maybe you wouldn't feel so old if you stopped calling me kid, Nigel."

He blinked, raising an eyebrow. Were they flirting? Again? _My fault--I'm the one that said partners shouldn't be overly concerned with rank and protocol._ He cracked his knuckles, acutely aware of the spot on his left ring finger where his wedding band _wasn't_--where it hadn't been for four years. "Maybe."

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Maybe." She shook her head. "Can I ask you a question?"

_You just did._ Nigel shrugged. "Go ahead."

"When I was briefed before being assigned here, they didn't say much about interacting with, you know, the League ... or anyone else who might come through."

"Yeah," Nigel nodded, "all Command really cares about is making sure there's someone around to keep unauthorized people out. I don't think there's an official policy on interacting with them, except be polite and discreet. Why do you ask?"

She picked up her purse and started rooting around in it. "I've got a cousin in Gotham. I don't like calling him a gossip hound, but he really gets a kick out of the society pages, celebrity news, that sort of thing." She pulled out a small black leather book. Nigel thought it looked a lot like one of the Bibles you could find in hotel rooms--only thinner. She put it on the desk. "Autograph book. He's got a birthday coming up. I ... thought he might enjoy it if I could get him a few signatures, you know? I've already got Steel's and Superboy's." She shook her head wistfully. "That kid's a flirt. I was wondering if you thought it would be inappropriate for me to ask people passing through."

_I thought Superboy had a girlfriend. Guess she wasn't around. Ah, to be young and ruled by hormones again._ "Like you said, there's no official policy. Use your best judgment--just don't try asking someone to stop if they look like they're racing off to save some village from being destroyed by a volcano or something." He frowned. "And whatever you do, _don't_ ask the Batman, assuming he comes through." Her eyes grew round, and he grinned. "He's not a people person, from what I've seen."

"You're kidding," she breathed. "Batman's not real ... is he? I mean, my cousin thinks he is, but he can get a bit carried away."

The older officer laughed. "You better believe he's real. I worked Vice in Gotham a couple years ago. My partner and I got cornered in the East End by a biker gang hopped up on some sort of super steroid one night--one of them ripped the door off our squad car like it was paper." He grimaced. "They all had tricked out automatic pistols and shotguns and the like--I thought we were done."

He had her full attention now. "And then _he_ showed up?"

Nigel nodded. "They'd forced us to veer into an alley and blocked us in--I'd called it in, but Gotham's not like Metropolis. They measure response time in the tens of minutes, and that's when they're at their best. My partner and I barricaded ourselves behind our cruiser, but--two nines against a dozen junkies with B13 tech? You do the math." He shook his head. "Then this pair of winged shadows falls over us--one huge, with horns and jagged edges, the other just a big blotch of darkness. They were on the ground in seconds--well, they landed on a pair of bikers, but you get the idea. Batman and Robin. Now, the kid was impressive, fast and tough and clever enough to keep from getting smashed to paste. But the Bat," he whistled, "it was the first time I'd personally seen him, if you can believe it. He was _inhuman_. With Robin you could sort of watch what he was doing, if you paid real close attention. But Batman--he was nothing but a swirling mass of cape. I still can't remember him actually _touching_ any of them. He sent this one guy--400 pounds, easy--into the alley wall so hard the bricks cracked. It was all over in about two minutes, if that. Batman asked us if we were still in one piece, and the _instant_ I said yes, they were gone. I mean _vanished._" He sighed. _And people have to ask why I moved._

Her jaw had fallen open at some point. "I always thought he was just a myth. Something the GCPD made up to scare the crap out of potential felons. Whoa."

"Make no mistake--there would be no Gotham if there wasn't a Batman." He laughed. "Official policy is there's no such person. Unofficially, they know he's real--the signal's on top of GCPD Central, for crying out loud. The top brass always liked the 'Batman works for us' rumor because it helped them save face. Except for Gordon. He doesn't give a damn about PR either way."

"What about the DA?" she asked thoughtfully. "Doesn't he have a problem with people and evidence brought in by the Batman? Chain of custody and Miranda and all tha--wait a minute." She blinked, pressing a couple fingers over her ear and frowning. "That's weird."

_Huh?_ Nigel reminded himself that she had been monitoring the police band as they talked. "Something wrong?"

"Maybe," she said uncertainly, narrowing her eyes. "I'm switching to external speakers. Listen to this." She flipped a switch.

Nigel strained his ears, but couldn't make anything out. _I know my hearing isn't _that_ far gone._ "I don't hear anything. What's the problem? Probably just a lull--wait a few minutes."

Karen shook her head. "No," she said, "listen. There's no static. No background noise. I heard a click and then, _nothing_." She cranked the volume to its highest level, a frown settling over her face.

Nigel frowned as an uneasy feeling settled over him. It wasn't a lull. There was none of the white noise he would've expected from an open listening post--just silence. _At that volume it should sound like waves crashing over a reef. Crap._ He looked at his partner and saw the traces of anxiety in her eyes. _Okay. No panic. Good._ "Some kind of component failure? Maybe we lost an antenna." He looked out a window. _Bright and sunny. No wind. Maybe a bird hit it._ His frown deepened. _My ass. So much for a quiet Sunday._

"Checking now." She started typing. "Does your radio work?"

_Good idea. Those are independent of the building's comm. unit._ He unclipped the small, sleek black handheld from his belt and pressed the transmit button, only to wince when a loud screech filled his ears. "What the hell?" He tried switching channels, but the result was the same.

Karen's voice was still calm, if not urgent, and he found himself more than a little impressed. "Systems check out fine, sir. Antenna's intact and online. But if our hand units aren't working either, I think we have a bigger problem." She tried her own, before tossing it aside with a scowl. "I'd say we're being jammed, sir. If this station is any indicator, the whole MPD communication system might be affected. I can't access fire or emergency frequencies either. Our teleporter tubes just went offline--not that we have the clearance codes to use them. Looks like we've lost mainframe access too. We're totally cut off."

_Shit. Now what?_ Then an idea struck him, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "I've got a cell phone. I'll call in." He started digging in his pocket.

She shook her head. "It won't do any good. Civilian cellular phones don't work in this building, remember? It's supposed to make it more private for the JLA and their associates." She didn't sound like she was particularly pleased with the arrangement.

Nigel groaned. "I do now. Damn. This isn't norm--" his eyes fell on the window, and he felt his throat go dry. "Turn around, Officer. _Now._" _Jesus._

He heard her spin around in her chair. "What is--_Holy God_."

As Nigel Cooper looked on, the pillar of sunlight pouring in through their window shrank and dimmed. _Can't be an eclipse._ And it when it was almost gone, when it looked as though something had actually managed to blot out the sun, he heard it.

Beating. It reminded him of hunting, of the sound a flock of ducks made when they flew off the water after a shotgun blast. _Except a hundred times louder._ He strained his ears, concentrating hard. _Sounds like dozens. Dozens of what?_ He heard Karen start to stand behind him. "_No!_" he looked over his shoulder. "Under your desk, _now_." He drew his Glock and cocked it in one swift motion.

"But that noise--" Her eyes were wide, and for the first time he saw traces of fear there. "We have to look--"

He nodded, jaw clenched. "I know. I'll check it out. But you're the only one who knows how to work half this crap. If something happens to you, something tells me I won't have time to flip through the manuals." She blinked once, before nodding and disappearing under her console.

Nigel slid along the wall, doing his best to stay out of the line-of-sight of ... _whatever_ was out there. Eventually he made it to a corner, and pressed himself against the outer wall, inching quickly towards the window. After what felt like hours, his hip bumped against the sill. _Okay. Just a quick peek. Here we go._ He slid down until he was kneeling, and craned his head around and up. His eyes bugged. "Holy _shit_." _I think I'm going to be sick._ It was painfully obvious now where all the light had gone--a great shimmering, thick black mass of _things_ was blocking the sun. His pistol started shaking in his hand. _Fifty, at least. Too high up and tightly packed--can't make out any details. Gotta be covering half a mile in all directions--and we're right in the middle, with no way to call for help._ He jerked himself away from the window, and started to panic--there was some sort of _creature_ army right on top of them, and it didn't take a genius to guess what they were there to do. _Okay. Calm down. Think._ He took a deep breath. Some genius had decided this building would be more secure with only one exit. Making a run for it required going out the front door. _Right under the death cloud. Not happening. Shit._ "Get up, kid. Lock us down. _Hurry._"

Karen rose shakily to her feet. "Wha-what's out there?" But she wasn't waiting for a response. She was in her seat and typing before the last word was out of her mouth, and in a few seconds ten-inch thick alloy plating fell in front of the entryway, over the windows, and in front of the hallway leading to the teleporter tubes, locking in place with a loud clang. "Sergeant?"

Nigel said nothing, sprinting behind his desk. He pulled a small key out of his pocket and unlocked a tall, thin door in the wall, opening it quickly. "They're right on top of us, kid," he said calmly, doing his best not to let any of the fear coursing through him seep into his voice. "It's a hit. Flying creatures, or aliens, or something. We're about to get slammed." _She must think I'm nuts for being so calm. But I learned one thing in Gotham: when someone's trying to take you out, you don't help them by scaring yourself out of the game._

The younger officer paled, and clasped her hands together when they started to shake. "What d-do we do n-now, sir?"

Nigel stood, a loaded M-4 rifle in either hand. "Just tell me you know how to fire one of these." She nodded slowly, eyes growing even bigger. He tossed one to her, and smiled thinly when she caught it with one hand. "We hold those things off until help gets here." He threw the bolt on his weapon, and nodded when she did the same. _If help gets here._ Not that he intended, for another instant, to betray a bit of uncertainty. _Time to start acting your rank, Nigel._ "Somebody in Command has to know what's going on. We might even get lucky and attract one of our spandex-wearing friends." It suddenly occurred to him that any one of them would have noticed a big swarm of gruesome creatures floating over a S.T.A.R. Labs by now. _One of them should be here ... unless this isn't the only big emergency in Metropolis. They've been distracted._ He felt the fear trying to take control again, but shook it off. _No matter. I've got a job to do._ "Aim carefully, Karen, and try to make 'em count. Something tells me we won't have time to reload."

Much to his surprise, she actually seemed to calm down a little. The weapon in her hands _almost_ stopped shaking. "How much time do you think we--" She was cut off by a tremendous boom as the ground shook beneath their feet.

Nigel jerked his head towards the sound, swinging his weapon around. The blast seal over the window now sported a dent as big as a basketball. He planted his feet and leveled his weapon at the barrier. "I'd say it's on."

* * *

Even with his emotions restored, the unbridled excitement the purely human (and sometimes alien) people in his life were prone to expressing over the simplest things was still perplexing to John Smith, otherwise known as android Red Tornado. Sitting in a private balcony in one of the Bellagio's showrooms, watching Martin Bronzemarsh make a 1953 Ford Thunderbird disappear into thin air, he came to the conclusion that illusions were something his android nature would never allow him to fully appreciate, no matter how much he embraced his humanity. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't ignore the mirrors, rotating platforms, and rope work, despite an array of dazzling strobe lights in the ceiling and the almost alarming amount of brightly colored smoke rolling off the stage.

So when he clapped his red metallic hands at the trick's conclusion, it was not because he was swept away in the moment, nor was he left astounded by a feat he couldn't understand. He spent too much time with real, supernaturally powered men and women to be fooled for a second, enhanced senses or not. He looked to his left, at the little girl in a red dress with short raven black hair, a huge, full toothed smile, and sparkling blue eyes. She was cheering for all she was worth. If the grey-eyed blond man on the stage could put that look on his daughter's face, well, John Smith didn't really care how he did it. "Are you enjoying your surprise, Traya?" he asked, his almost completely monotone voice tinged with the affection he worked so hard to express, just for her. _And Kathy--though she seems far more adept at reading my feelings, even when I am not trying to articulate them._

Traya beamed at him as the intermission music began to play, and he felt a gentle warmth wash over his mind. "This is _wonderful_, Daddy. I still can't believe I'm in _Las Vegas_. This is so cool! Thank you _so_ much. You too, Mommy." She hugged them both, then wrapped her arms around Red Tornado's bicep. He wanted so badly to smile. But the rectangular slits representing his eyes and mouth were not designed with such gestures in mind.

Kathy Sutton smiled as she tucked a few stands of her long, blond hair behind her ear. "You're welcome, honey. We thought you deserved a present for doing so well--the whole year on the Dean's List!" She winked one of her own light blue eyes at Red Tornado. "Though I'll admit _this_ was your father's idea. I was thinking about taking you to a bookstore."

"Your mother is right, Traya. You deserve to be rewarded for your accomplishments--you have persevered magnificently in the face of your recent challenges. And we will certainly raid a Barnes and Noble later if you wish. I find spoiling you to be a highly enjoyable experience." Traya laughed and nudged him lightly in the shoulder; he was careful to sway his body lightly so she didn't hurt herself. "I simply thought you might enjoy something a little ... out of the ordinary. Given the interesting company you keep, I had to do quite a bit of looking." He didn't fail to notice the apprehension that flashed in Kathy's eyes--she never had been completely comfortable with Traya's attachment to the former members of Young Justice, despite all his reassurances. He knew her trust in his judgment was the only reason she let her near them. _There are few people on this planet I would trust more with her. _"I could think of no better place to attempt to satisfy that goal than Las Vegas. And I will admit, I had one other reason for suggesting this venue." _Which, in retrospect, I probably shouldn't have alluded to. Oops._

Kathy raised an eyebrow. "And what's that, dear?"

_Make that definitely._ He could have groaned if he chose, but he found suppressing emotional reactions (somewhat disturbingly) easy. The truth was, there weren't that many places he could go with Kathy and Traya without causing a scene. And though he understood--a tall, barrel-chested red android with a chassis molded to resemble Superman and command of the very wind itself was not likely to go unnoticed in a crowd--his inability to simply go out in public on a whim with the people he considered his family was frustrating in the extreme. And that was one emotion he did _not_ enjoy experiencing.

But in this part of the country, no one seemed to care that a super-powered being was in the audience--they were all used to far stranger things. Like a pair of German men who refused to age spending the last thirty years doing an animal and magic act that involved a pair of large white tigers and a heavily accented beefcake who devoted his life to spreading the good word of butter substitute throughout the land. But he did not want to burden either of his companions with his musings on the difficulties of being an android in a human world, so he volunteered another truth. "I was hoping to spot Fabio. He fascinates me." Red Tornado felt Traya's grip on his arm loosen as she looked up at him with raised eyebrows. On her other side, Kathy mirrored her expression, and he realized he found this very ... cute. "What? I was hoping to observe the phenomenon that allows him to attract vast numbers of women by uttering simplistic and often highly inane catchphrases involving household appliances, butter substitute, and toasters." He shifted in his seat, feeling the irrational urge to straighten the blue, yellow-trimmed cape tied around his broad neck. "Please stop looking at me like that."

"Why?" Kathy asked with a smirk. "It's not often you give us the opportunity to stare at you like you've grown a second head, John. And I, for one, do not think His Hairness is God's gift to women." She stuck out her tongue, and he made a sound somewhat like a chuckle.

"He's freaky looking," Traya said authoritatively. "His face looks like melted plastic."

Red Tornado cocked his head slightly, the closest he could come to a smirk. "So you've seen him?"

Kathy grinned. "I knew I raised you to have good taste in men, honey."

Traya giggled. "He puts his pictures on his novels. Cissie reads a lot of 'em ... especially when she's upset with Bart."

Kathy sat up in her seat. "_Excuse me?_"

Red Tornado felt a stab of something suspiciously like panic. _Jumping to conclusions would be unwise ... though this does raise some questions about Cecilia's method of dealing with relationship problems._ "Traya," he began quickly, before Kathy had a chance to fully hyperventilate, "have you read any of these books?"

Traya shook her head, confusion and a bit of disgust written plainly on her face. "Nope. He doesn't seem very smart. Why?"

Red Tornado heard Kathy exhale, but wasn't sure she was quite ready to speak yet. _And now's the time, while Traya has that adorably innocent look on her face._ "No reason, Traya. We just didn't think you would be interested in that sort of literature. We were ... surprised. Right, Kathy?"

She blinked. "Uh, right. Yeah."

Traya regarded them both dubiously, in that particular way children look at their parents when they're acting weird in the way only adults can. "I think you're right, Dad--all those people that swoon over Fabio are weird. There're _way_ cooler guys out there." She lowered her voice. "Like Robin." Kathy groaned and shook her head.

_I think it best to stop the conversation there._ He didn't really let the implications of that last comment bother him--since Batman's partner had begun making regular trips to St. Elias to court Greta--_Finally...another month and I would've lost the pot to Flash._--his little girl had developed a bit of a crush on the masked vigilante. He meant to have a talk with the Titans' field leader, and soon, just to make sure he was aware of the situation. It was already quite clear he and Kathy needed to have a _long_ discussion about how to handle it when Traya started becoming seriously interested in the opposite sex. He felt her snuggle into him. _But we have time yet._ She was so young now, but it wouldn't be that much longer before she stumbled into adolescence. He remembered when she was so much smaller, barely more than a toddler. Had so much time really passed? "Indeed. And please don't become interested in _any_ boys until you've reached an appropriate age. Forty will do nicely."  
"I think I like the sound of that." Kathy was smiling, but Red Tornado couldn't be sure she was joking.

Nevertheless, Traya laughed. "You two are silly." She smiled, watching the stage crew prepare for the second half of the act. "When is the magician coming back out?"

The android checked his internal clock. "Intermission will end in ten minutes," Red Tornado said flatly. "If you wish to use the restroom or get a refreshment, now would be a very good--" the rest of his sentence was cut off by the roar of explosions in the distance and, an instant later, the shrill whine of a fire alarm. In the blink of an eye, the auditorium broke into a cacophony of panicked shouts and scrambling feet. The stage crew, in a display of great selfless courage, abruptly ran behind the curtains, screaming. _What in blazes?_

The building's very foundation shook beneath them. Traya's hold on him was suddenly steel. "_Daddy!_" she screamed. "What's going on?"

Kathy wrapped her arm protectively around her daughter, her eyes dancing with alarm. "_John?_" She had to shout to be heard.

_Wonderful._ "Don't panic," he said evenly. "I shall find out what's happening at once." The sound of screaming and rumbling--both in the auditorium and elsewhere--was doing nothing to reassure him. And the faint vibrations under his feet were more than a little troubling. But showing doubt wouldn't do--not so long as Kathy and Traya were depending on him to protect them. A part of his mind he might have called intuition in another life was already making it abundantly clear something was very wrong. "However, someone must take charge of this evacuation before people begin injuring themselves. Hotel security does not seem to be up to the task." He looked his daughter in the eyes, already regretting the words he was about to say. "Please release me, Traya. I will not go far." With obvious reluctance, she pulled her small arms away, and he stood.

His cape started to swirl around him as he tapped into his elemental powers, and he felt a swell of confidence as a cyclone formed around his legs, carrying him into the open air above the rear-riotous spectators. _No less than About 5000. And there will be hundreds more on the casino floor._ "_Calm down at once!_"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Traya and Kathy cover their ears and wince. But his call had the desired effect--everyone was quiet and unmoving, staring up at him in stunned shock. He picked up a few shouts of recognition: "It's the Red Tornado!" "A member of the Justice League!" "Thank God!" "Oh, _shit!_ It's the guy that tried to kill the Pope! We're gonna die!"

Red Tornado tilted his head, annoyed. _There's always _somebody_. At least I've got their attention._ "There is no need to panic," he continued, not quite so loud. "Please proceed to clearly marked auditorium exits and leave the building as calmly as quickly as possible." As if on cue, those same doors flew open, and ushers and security personnel--all of whom looked far too nervous for his liking--began pouring in. _About time... though they would be much more effective if they weren't staring at me._ "If you or one of your companions needs assistance, please remain where you are and myself or one of the staff will assist you." Members of the staff--some nodding appreciatively at him-- began working their way into the aisles, but none of the spectators moved. "Go. _Now_." He heard another small explosion, and saw the lights above the stage start to shake._ Damn._ But it got people moving for the doors, and the casino workers were actually doing a fair job of maintaining order.

Red Tornado spun in the air, descending towards the balcony. Traya, looking pale, was clinging to her mother's arm, but visibly calmed when he looked at her. Kathy was watching him intently, a worried frown marring her features. He moved quickly, scooping his little one out of her seat. "Put your arms around my neck, Traya. It is not safe for either of you here." _This balcony will collapse soon if these explosions continue ... and perhaps the building._ She nodded wordlessly, and he felt her arms slide under his head. It occurred to him that if he were human, he would be unable to breathe.

Kathy had her hands on her armrests, trying to stand. But her legs wobbled beneath her, and she fell back into her seat. "Damn--" she caught Traya looking at her worriedly, and took a deep breath. "I don't know where they stuffed my wheelchair." Another explosion, closer this time, shook the floor, and several rows of lights over the stage fell, shattering loudly. Traya yelped, tightening her grip until her olive-skinned hands were white as chalk. "We need to get off this thing before it falls down. If you can't carry us both, take Traya first. You've got to get her out of here, John!"

Traya sucked in a breath. "Mommy! We're not leaving you up here!"

_Indeed._ "We most certainly are not." Traya took the hint and wrapped her short legs tightly around his waist. He bent down and, sliding an arm under Kathy's knees and behind her shoulders, lifted her up. "The two of you together do not weigh nearly as much as the bus I lifted yesterday. Hold on." He took to the air once more. "Just relax." Traya put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes tightly, breathing deeply.

"Are you comparing me to a bus, John?" Kathy smiled thinly.

Red Tornado cocked his head to the side as he floated to the ground. "Certainly not, dear." _An odd time for humor._

She smirked thinly as they touched down, as if reading his thoughts. "I _could_ be screaming right now, you know." She lowered her voice. "It's not my fault I feel safe with you."

"I'm glad you do." He looked around, spotting a tall, muscular looking black usher with his hair pulled back into a ponytail near one of the doors, wearing a serious look and directing the crowd. "We must hurry." He began pushing himself through the crowd, managing to catch a glimpse of the man's nametag. "Mr. Byron!" he called. "I have need of you."

Byron's brown eyes bulged. "You ... do? Anything you want, man. We'd have a riot on our hands if it weren't for you. That was some quick thinking."

_The last thing we needed was a stampede._ Red Tornado nodded, closing the gap between them. "I need to know what's happening."  
"You mean _aside_ from the building coming down on us?" Kathy snapped.

The usher frowned. "I wish I knew. There's been a series of explosions in one of the sublevels. We don't know what's doing it. All cameras are down, and so far no one we've sent there has reported back. To top it all off, we can't contact Las Vegas PD ... or anybody else. As much as this place is shaking, though, I'd say something or somebody hit the foundation. No major casualties yet, as far as I know." There was another booming rumble, and a large crack formed in the floor. Kathy swore. "Make that _is_ hitting the foundation. We've got to get the rest of these people out."

_Could someone be jamming their communications?_ He tried activating his own communicator, and found every frequency, including the encrypted JLA and Oracle channels, dead or jammed with so much random noise they were completely useless. _Most unsettling._

Kathy gasped, and he felt something warm and wet splash on the shoulder Traya was burying her face in. "Everything will be fine, baby," she said soothingly, "I promise. Right, John?"

"Of course." _Once the floor begins to collapse, it will take the sublevels with it. There will be nothing here but a gaping pit ... assuming the roof doesn't cave._ Red Tornado turned his attention back to Byron. "I will do what I can to assist the evacuation. But you must do something for me." He stepped forward, looking the man in the eyes. "This is my ... wife ... Kathy, and my daughter Traya."

Traya jerked her head up, looking at him with wide eyes. "Daddy--"

He pressed on. "See to it they make it out of the building safely. They," he paused, trying to figure out how to express their importance to him, "are my reason for existing." That was terribly insufficient, but it would have to do. "I did not have time to retrieve Kathy's wheelchair. Can you manage?"

Byron nodded vigorously, smiling reassuringly. "I'll take care of them, sir. You have my word."

Kathy narrowed her eyes. "John, you're not seriously thinking of staying in here?"

"I must," he said calmly. "I am needed."

"B-but, Daddy," Traya cried, tears running down her cheeks, "you can't stay! He just said this part of the building's about to collapse. What if you can't make it out? Don't leave us here, please!"

Red Tornado felt like he was being torn in two. He wanted so badly to carry the two of them away from all this, to hide them and hold them until it was over and let somebody _else_ deal with whatever was doing this, but he knew he couldn't. Someone with a great deal of explosives and the ability to jam very sophisticated communications equipment was ripping the Bellagio apart, and it was his duty to protect the surviving civilians from harm--all of them. He put his finger under Traya's chin, forcing her to look at him. "I must figure out who is doing this, Traya. I cannot allow them to hurt anyone else. I will be fine. I have survived far more ... difficult encounters before." His thoughts flashed back to his final skirmish with a berserker Secret--when he'd been absolutely helpless in the face of her misguided wrath--but he pushed the images quickly out of his mind. "You have to be brave and watch over your mother for me. Can you do that?"

She nodded, determination blossoming in her frightened eyes. "Y-yeah. You'll find us soon, right?"

He nodded. "As soon as I'm done here, Traya."

Kathy shook her head, and he didn't miss the look of pride in her eyes. "Be careful, John." She kissed him quickly on what passed for his lips, leaving him regretting his inability to reciprocate.

"I will be." He passed Kathy to Byron, pleased when he settled her in one of his large arms, her back against his shoulder and his forearm supporting her legs. He lifted Traya off his shoulder and sat her on the ground. He took one of her hands and placed it in her mother's. "No matter what, do not let go."

Her head bobbed. "Got it."

Byron, showing no strain whatsoever, suddenly pressed a finger to his ear, frowning. For the first time, Red Tornado noticed the cord running from behind his earlobe and under his jacket. He looked worriedly at the android. "Sounds like nobody can find Bronzemarsh and his crew. They went behind the stage and disappeared. It looks like we've almost got everybody out of here. Could you ..."

_Whoever's doing this may have taken them hostage ... or they could be working together._ "Yes." He took one last look at Traya and Kathy's worried faces. "I'll be back." He turned and ran for the stage.

* * *

Red Tornado threw the thick blue curtains back and stepped into the pitch-black backstage, his boot landing in a puddle of something warm and slippery. _Oh, no._ "Hello? Is anyone there?" _No response. No breath sounds._ He activated his night vision system, and found himself looking at a wood floor completely soaked in blood. _Not good._ "Can anyone hear me?" He hoped Mr. Byron already had Kathy and Traya far, far away from this place--someone truly wicked was obviously at work. He switched to thermograph mode, and took a step back. There were fifteen bodies strewn around the room, their bodies the blue shade of death--all missing their heads. _Damn! Who's doing this? It hasn't been more than three minutes since the first explosion._ He spotted a body wearing a sequined tuxedo. _Bronzemarsh._ But there would be time for regret later. He tried his communicator again. _Still jammed. Blast it!_ Something shifted in the rafters above him, and he jerked his head up, but there was nothing there. He clenched his fists, his unease growing by the second. "_Show yourself!"_

"Okay," someone said conversationally, "if you insist, Reddy." A pair of heavy boots hit the ground a few feet behind him, and he whirled around, recognizing the voice almost instantly. "Long time no see, Tin Man."

_Harm._ Red Tornado felt anger sparking within him, and a touch of fear. He'd fallen to this boy once before, becoming nothing more than a remote controlled assassin. He had no intention of letting history repeat itself. _But according to Robin, Billy Hayes was practically invulnerable now. Defeating him alone will be ... difficult._ "_You_. You did this?" The ground shook again. _Another explosion._ There was a great crashing noise, and he guessed the showroom's chandelier had fallen--but he had far more pressing problems now. He had to trust that Mr. Byron had indeed gotten Traya and Kathy somewhere safe, and that the evacuation was otherwise well in hand. _I've got to figure out a way to contain him._

"I had to do something to get your attention. I figured threatening to bring a chunk of a casino down on your pathetic excuse for a family would do just fine. I even jammed your communications equipment--and _everyone_ else's--just to make sure we weren't disturbed." Harm's eyes were hidden behind a black domino mask with glowing red lenses that stood out sharply against his chalk-white skin, and his muscles bulged under a pair of skintight leather pants and matching sleeveless shirt, and two wrist gauntlets. Enough weaponry dangled off his belt to make Batman look under-prepared. "As for these poor idiots, they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time--no one sees me, not yet."

The dripping broadsword in Harm's right hand caught Red Tornado's attention, sending a jolt of disgust through him. _Bastard._ "I see you. And I will see to it you pay for what you've done." _Need to keep him talking._

"You'll try, at least." Harm laughed coolly, swinging his sword in wide, languid arcs. "I'm so glad we could have this private moment together," he mused. "It makes what's coming so much easier."

"What's coming, Harm?" Red Tornado growled. "I'm in no mood for games."

Harm grinned. "I'm going to kill you."

_An assassination. Something he is _more _than qualified for._ "I don't recall giving you command of my fate, Harm," he said flatly, doing his best to keep his sudden nervousness out of his voice. "I won't bend to your will so easily this time."

"Good. I get to have a little fun." Harm smirked. "I have no more use of you, Tornado. You're powerful, I'll give you that. And very important to Robin and his friends. The former makes you a liability ... and I don't tolerate liabilities. The latter--well, I'm not going to pass up _any_ opportunity to make Greta and her precious Timothy that much more miserable. The others ... well, they're not much without Bird Boy." He tightened his grip on his sword. "Don't you agree?"

Red Tornado felt like he'd been slapped. _He knows Timothy's identity. How is that possible?_ And it begged the question: how much more did he know? _Perhaps he's looking for verification. He'll learn nothing from me._ "It doesn't surprise me that you've been keeping tabs on your sister, Harm--you simply can't leave her in peace," he said calmly. "You're so pathetic that you spend all your time obsessing over a girl five years younger than you ... for what? Destroying her entire lifewasn't enough?" he asked angrily. "I'm not going to waste my time trying to understand your mania, William, but as much as you'd like to put a face on your problems, assuming her current boyfriend is Robin strikes me as rather," his tone tuned mocking, "desperate."

Harm only laughed. "Nice try, Reddy, but you can't bluff me out. And just for the record, my relationship with Greta is far more complicated than you give me credit for, but that's beside the point." He began to circle the android, who spun slowly, never breaking eye contact. "You see, Timmy isn't the only one with a nice girl in his life. I've met someone special. An information broker with a talent for uncovering secrets," he said smugly. "She's been watching you, Reddy--you, Robin, Greta, and all those pathetic weaklings you call friends. For months. She knows everything--and now, so do I. In fact," he cracked his neck, "I'd be willing to bet, even if you could call the Titans for help--and it would _only_ be the Titans, 'cause I know pretty much everybody else is in deep space--you would find they all have their own little emergencies to deal with."

Red Tornado was silent. His internal polygraph said Harm wasn't lying, and what was left of his human instincts weren't offering a dissenting opinion. _Damn it._ There was indeed a catastrophe unfolding here, but it was a lot more complicated than a gaping hole in a showroom floor. It started with the fifteen corpses at his feet, and spiraled out of control from there. _How could he know _everything_? This doesn't make sense._ And for the first time since floor shook beneath his balcony seat, for an instant that seemed to drag into an eternity, he had no idea what to do.

Harm looked to have taken his silence as some sort of snub--he was shaking his head, smirk bigger than ever. "Let me guess ... you think I'm so full of shit you're not even going to dignify what I said with a response, right? How about a little proof, then?" He reached into one of the compartments in his belt. Red Tornado shook off his stupor and tensed, ready to blast Harm through the wall--and not really knowing what he was going to do after that--but stopped short when the demonic boy calmly removed a slip of paper and tossed it in his direction. "My associate took this a while back, when she was doing her ... research on you. You've got a very photogenic little girl."

The android snatched the paper out of the air--and almost dropped it as a wave of shock crashed over him. It was Traya, asleep in her bedroom at Kathy's house, her small body wrapped up in her Wendy the Werewolf Stalker bedding. Her powder blue nightshirt clung to her skin, making her look even smaller than she was, and her hair was matted down over her tightly-shut eyes. Her face, glistening with sweat, was twisted into a light grimace.

He recognized it instantly. It was winter break, and she was in the middle of a nasty flu that had almost landed her in the hospital. The rational part of him knew the thing in his hands shouldn't exist: there were no windows in her room, and neither he nor Kathy had left her alone for more than two minutes at a time. But looking at that face, he knew it was her--he'd memorized every line of that pained look, staring at it night after night for two weeks, cursing himself for being unable to make it go away. But the rational part of his brain was no longer in control. Someone, either Harm or this mysterious woman he kept mentioning, had snuck into his daughter's room when she was alone, had her completely at their mercy more than long enough to do whatever they wanted. And the smirking murderer in front of him dared to hand him proof of this _violation_ as if it were some sort of _game_? His shock boiled away, a blazing fury like he'd never felt before taking its place. The photo disappeared in a clinched fist. "_Enough._ I'm finished humoring you."

Harm's smile tightened. "Don't get all bent out of shape, Tornado. You'll get sloppy. I want to _enjoy_ this. As for Traya and Kathy-dear, I don't intend to hurt them," he smirked, "unless you decide you don't want to play."

Just as the last word left Harm's mouth, Red Tornado snapped his arm up, pointing his open palm at the grinning maniac. His cape snapped backwards as a powerful gust of wind lifted Harm off the ground and slammed him through a wall--a foot-thick, cement and steel wall. Red Tornado watched the debris settle wearily. That wasn't _nearly_ enough to stop him. _What is?_ "So long as I live, you won't get the chance."

A black-gloved fist crashed through the concrete slab on top of the pile. An instant later, Harm swatted it away, sending it scraping across the floor as he rose to his feet, caked in dust, his clothing ripped in several places. He wasn't smiling anymore. Working a boot under his blade, he sent it flying with a light kick. "_Finally_," he roared, snatching the weapon out of the air, "I was hoping that little polaroid would get you stirred up. I didn't come here to talk all day. I have other places to be." He started dusting himself off, scowling at the rips in his leather. "Damn it. It doesn't pay to invest in good clothing."

_I don't think so._ Red Tornado folded his arms, a cyclone lifting him off the ground. "You're not going anywhere." Harm simply stood there, neither dropping into a defensive posture nor preparing to attack--just looking ... bemused. _He does not consider me a threat in the least._ The android tilted his head, the realization like a blow to the stomach. _He's playing with me. Like some toy._ He flattened his palms under his cape. _Arrogance always was your worst flaw._ The thought of what he was about to do struck him as wrong in every way--he'd always believed torture was an unacceptable option, especially for someone who worked above the law--but he couldn't afford to let Harm win this one, no matter what. "Now," he growled, raising his arms once more, "hold still."

A cyclone sprung from his left arm, pinning a now struggling Harm to the wall. Another gust carried his broadsword away, embedding it in the floor. With his right, he called forth several smaller torrents of air, using them to lift a large steel beam from the wreckage. Harm eyed it curiously, then grinned. "You son of a bitch," he looked surprised, "I didn't think you had it in you."

"_Quiet_." With a thought, Red Tornado snapped the beam into four pieces, each groaning as he twisted its jagged ends into screws. Briefly, he wondered if Harm could still feel pain. _I'll know soon enough_, he thought darkly. _Kathy ... Traya ... forgive me._ With a nod, he started spinning the fragments as fast as he could, carefully lining them up with Harm's thrashing limbs...

The teen roared as the large bolts of metal dug into his arms and legs, but made no attempt to resist as his face contorted in pain. Blood flowed freely down the wall, puddling just under his nailed-down feet. Harm took one deep, shuddering breath, and threw his head back, his laughter echoing off the walls. The reserve JLA member felt a chill go down his spine. "_Awesome_, Reddy. I knew threatening those two _insects_ would get you moving, but _damn_." Harm cocked his head, and try as he might Red Tornado couldn't spot a trace of pain on his face. He'd had gone for arteries in hopes of getting him to at least pass out--there was already at least a quart of blood on the ground. "I wonder," he lilted, "what would little Traya think if she saw her precious Daddy now? I'm not sure even _her_ rose-tinted image of you could withstand seeing you perform a crucifixion, Tornado. And the anger in your voice," he chuckled, "even she would have figured out you _wanted_ to hurt me. Wanted to hear me scream. Too bad she's already probably miles away by now."

The elemental android flinched. He wanted to calmly tell Harm that he was full of it--that this was only a detaining tactic. But he already knew that was a lie. Immobilizing the invulnerable hellspawn _was_ absolutely critical if he expected to survive, but there were other ways he could have done it. He'd let his anger take control, convince him that Harm deserved punishment for _daring_ to use his family as pawns in one of his sick games, for using his baby like a plaything. And when the boy's screams had first reached his ears, for one single, agonizingly long second, he'd been pleased. "It is her place to pass judgment on me, not yours." _Someday when it's safe to tell her, when she's old enough and doesn't need me to take care of her anymore._

"Ah," Harm tried to shrug, but couldn't. He snarled instead. "Just so you know," his voice dripped with arrogance, "your little moral transgression accomplished absolutely _shit_." Harm chanted something in a language not even Tornado's universal translator could decipher, and as one the spikes glowed purple and ripped themselves out the wall. Harm growled as he fell, his wounds closed before his feet touched the ground. He wasted no time sprinting towards his opponent, drawing his sword from the cement and swinging it in a precise, narrow arc...

Red Tornado shook off his surprise just in time to bring swing his arms around, catching the blade between his palms mere centimeters from the yellow arrow emblem emblazoned on his forehead. He tried pushing the weapon away, but Harm held it steady--they were evenly matched. _Assuming he isn't holding back_, Tornado thought dourly, planting his feet, his body trembling lightly under the strain.

Harm grinned. "Now this ... is more like it. Playing pincushion was getting boring."

"_Shut up._" He tightened his grip on the blade, and let the cyclone around him dissipate, falling to the ground. Harm leaned forward clumsily, momentarily off balance. _Now._ Calling forth all his inhuman strength, his microservos groaning under the strain, the android forced Harm's sword to the left as he smashed a foot into the invulnerable boy's crotch. Harm whimpered as he doubled over, his grip on the sword loosening. Red Tornado pulled with everything he had, wresting the weapon from his hands and tossing it over his caped shoulder. Clenching his now free hand into a fist, he launched an uppercut towards the killer's head with every bit of strength he had, so fast it was nothing more than a red blur.

He was only mildly surprised when Harm managed to catch it without even looking up. "That _hurt_, Reddy." He still didn't look up.

_Good._ The teen's other fist came up, angling for his torso, but Red Tornado caught it with ease. Holding it still, on the other hand, was proving far more difficult. "That was the point." He shifted on his feet, looking for leverage and finding none. _I can still toss him. Then lock him into a spin cycle._ He just hoped he didn't have his sister's talent for turning his attacks against him, but if that stunt with the spikes was any indication ... he shook it off, and concentrated hard. He doubted even Harm would be able to escape a _real_ tornado.

Harm finally met his eyes, just as the room began to shudder. "Another cyclone? An F-5 tornado, maybe? You just don't get it, do you? Your tricks aren't going to work on me, just like they didn't work on Greta when she decided to kick your ass. Only this time, I'm not going to settle for just blowing a hole in your casing and frying a few circuits." He muttered another word in that same indecipherable language.

Red Tornado heard the unmistakable sound of metal sliding against concrete, and was forced to release Harm, kicking him away and spinning around. The cyclone meant to trap Harm died as he lost focus, his concentration shifting to the broadsword zooming towards his chest.

He waited till the last possible second, until the blade's point was mere inches from the T emblazoned on his chest, and slammed his palms together.

But Harm was ready for that. At the last moment, the blade dove down, zooming between the android's legs, and as Red Tornado spun to find it, he felt a boot slam into the small of his back, cracking his armor and sending him stumbling. Then he knew, in an all too clear moment of realization, that he'd been had.

"_Argh!_" Red Tornado was incapable of feeling pain, not in the human sense, but when the blade sliced through his left arm, the shock to his system was enough to overwhelm his neural net for a few precious seconds, flooding his mind with far too much feedback for even _his_ brain to handle. So as he was crumbling to the floor, coolant spurting from the sparking stump, he could do nothing but watch in muted horror when the sword came around for a second pass, severing his other arm at the elbow and finally darting between his legs, chopping them off above the knee in one lightning fast pinwheel motion.

When Red Tornado's mind cleared a few seconds later, he found himself face down on the floor, damage reports and other status messages floating across his field of vision in rapid succession. _Damage control functioning ... circulatory fluids rerouting ... power and memory cores stable ... primary weapon and flight system emitters improperly disengaged from chassis ... I--Harm. _He strained his auditory sensors, listening. He heard him a few feet away, chuckling darkly.

Harm strode forward, flipping the android over with his foot. "Well, you get an A for effort, Tornado, but it's over. I win. Any last words? Cliched, I know, but I figured I should ask."

_It's over._ The realization didn't come with the force of a freight train, or any sort of real shock whatsoever--he'd known going in he couldn't really win, only stall--but this was it._ It was over as soon as I allowed myself to become angry ... just as he planned. But I did what was necessary--I kept him away from Kathy, Traya, and all the others--they have to be gone by now. _Have_ to be._ He suddenly remembered his conversation with Traya, only minutes earlier. _It seems ... I will not be able seeing you as quickly as I thought, little one._ He locked eyes with the demon hovering over him. _But neither will he._ And that would have to be enough--it was all he had left. "Gloat over me as much as you want," he hissed, "but you have won _nothing_. No matter what happens to me, there will be others to stand against you." _Hopefully Timothy and the others will succeed where I have failed._

"Why, Reddy," Harm chuckled, sliding his sword into its sheath, "I'm counting on it. Hunting's no fun when all the prey is too frightened to come out. Maybe seeing what's left of you will be enough to get them motivated ... not that I think that'll be a problem." He cocked his head. "One other thing I thought you should know: just because I said _I_ wasn't going to go after those weakling women of yours myself doesn't mean someone else won't. Have a nice afterlife, Johnny."

John Smith made no movement as a leather boot sole consumed his field of vision. He felt a single tear slide down his metal cheek, but paid it no mind, his thoughts drifting to two people with crystal blue eyes who never looked at him with anything other than unbridled affection, who treated the atrophied emotions he did his best to show for them like priceless treasure--the only two people on earth who made him feel truly _human_. He met Harm's eyes for the last time. _Kathy ... Traya ... I'm sorry. I love--_ The boot fell, and John Smith knew oblivion.

* * *

"Man," Garfield Logan growled, moving a rag in quick little circles over the purple chassis of the Super-Cycle, "how'd I get into this? I'm supposed to be one of the _elders_." The avocado-skinned Titan pulled the cloth away, examining his handiwork. His eyes fell on the dark smudge under the steering column he'd been battling for the last fifteen minutes, and he groaned. _You've gotta be kidding me._ "Out, damn spot!" His voice echoed off the smooth walls and high ceiling of the Titans Tower's motor pool, and he groaned.

A deep chuckle sounded behind him. "Quoting _Macbeth_, now, BB? _Someone's_ been spending too much time with Raven."

_How can a half metal man be so quiet?_ Gar's cheeks flushed, and he made a point of keeping his back to the larger man as he smoothed the wrinkles out of his PETA t-shirt. "I can't help it if she enjoys my company, Vic." He frowned, if only because he failed to keep a triumphant note out of his voice. _Here comes the ribbing._

But Cyborg apparently had other tortures in mind. In fact, he'd been remarkably understanding about Gar's infatuation with their local telepath. Still, Vic Stone was a teasing expert extraordinaire, and Gar had been burned one too many times to think he'd gotten off that easily. But the half metal man merely strode forward, stopping at Beast Boy's shoulder and inspecting the alien machine, his human eye shining appreciatively. Then he found the spot currently resisting all of Gar's cleaning efforts, ran his finger over it, and smirked. "So, little buddy, how long you going to keep trying to polish out a dent?"

Gar twitched, taking a closer look, his weary eyes noticing a distinct indentation that he had somehow missed before. _Aw, crud._ "I hate you," he said flatly. "I've been cleaning this thing for _two_ hours. Scratches, dents, smudges--it all starts to look alike after a while."

Cyborg smirked, and Gar knew at once he'd walked into something _bad._ "I don't know, Gar ... maybe she just likes it when you massage her."

_What if it's a he?_ But he certainly wasn't going to bring _that_ up. The shape-shifter snarled. "Yeah, laugh it up, buddy. You'll get yours." Gar wasn't exactly sure how, but in his current exhausted state, threatening things felt nice, _particularly_ when done in vague, sweeping ways.

Cyborg laughed, light from the open windows glancing across his massive, silver chest, and held up a pair of metal hands. "Easy, BB. I think someone's inhaled too much turtle wax. It's almost 2:30--I think you can stop for lunch now." He shrugged. "But, I don't know why you're taking your frustration out on me--_I'm_ not the one that let our resident Boy Wonder con him into doing five extra hours of chores--on a Sunday."

"No, but you're the only other person here, which makes you really convenient." Gar smirked. "And I wouldn't be so smug if I were you. I seem to remember you always getting rooked into Dick's particularly gruesome chores. To this day, he's never had to clean the toilet after burrito night."

Cyborg winced. "We've really gotta stop having those. It can't be environmentally safe. But here's the lesson you should've learned by now, little man: don't make these sorts of bets with anybody trained by the Bat. I heard Superman had to show up at a fund-raiser in a pink dress because of some wager he had with Pointy Ears. Oddly enough, _nobody_ got any pictures."

"Point taken. Should've known better than to take him on, anyway--if there's one thing Tim'd be good at, it's a staring contest. Guess that's what I get for drinking enough Soder to buzz a blue whale."

Cyborg chuckled. "You said it, not me."

"Not to mention he wasn't gonna miss out on a chance to spend the whole day with Greta. I could've challenged him to a shape-shifting contest and he still would've found a way to win." Garfield grinned. "Those two remind you of anybody?"

"I could say Dick and Kory, back when we were young and angst-ridden--as opposed to just angst ridden," Cyborg mused, "but that didn't end so well. Then again, there was that mess with Darksied. With any luck, Tim and Greta already had their rough patch before they even started with the hot and heavy. As for Dick and Kory, who says second chances only happen in overwrought romance novels?" He winked.

Gar frowned. "Let's hope so. They're all making each other happy, and I don't really want to see the Princes Brood make a comeback." _And hell, if people as happy and determined as Tim and Greta can't make it, I don't know who can._ He wished Dick and Starfire the best, of course, but he'd already seen that ship sink once--making it work a second time wasn't going to be easy. _Especially as long as they keep trying to fool themselves into thinking they're not dating again._ He smirked, shaking his head. _Dude, this is pathetic--I'm using two of the most emotionally repressed members of our little club as my models for romance. Of course,_ they're_ not single... Ugh._ The changling ran a hand through his spiky, dark green hair, and began putting up his cleaning supplies, mouth suddenly salivating. "Enough of this. You and I are particularly hot guys, if I do say so myself, but we're gonna stay single as long as we spend all our time talking about other people's love lives. Besides, all this talk of wrapped foods is making me hungry. I'm ready to call Purple Thunder here clean." _And I want out of here before it decides to hump my leg._ He made a mental note not to mention the purr-like noise he'd heard earlier. After that massaging crack, it was just too dangerous.

Cyborg smirked, and it was all Gar could do not to crash to his knees when the big man clapped him on the shoulder. "Sounds like a plan. Say," he lowered his voice, "you think now that you've given her so much attention she'll let you go for a little ... ride?" He winked, human eye gleaming.

_You want to take the living, anti-social flying motorcycle for a ride. _"You're a sick man, Vic.

"Hey, just Ôcause you don't have any appreciation for such fine machines doesn't mean you have to get snippy.

Gar rotated his wrist, feeling a gratifying pop. _Wonder if there's such a thing as repetitive polisher's injury..._ "I'm not being snippy. I just don't want to wrestle with a New Genesian Frankenbike just to satiate your macho gland. I mean, dude, do I look like Lobo?

Cyborg, grin wider than ever, was about to retort when the Super-Cycle interjected with a powerful rumble. Gar and Victor's jerked their heads as one towards the sound just in time to see the craft lift slightly off the ground, revving slightly. Beast Boy frowned. "Um ... nice Super-Cycle?" _Wonderful. Just great. No way this thing'll calm down without Timbo ... which means interrupting his date. Crud._ A choice between a rampaging flying machine and a rampaging Timothy Drake was really no choice at all. He glared at Cyborg. "Now look what you did. It _was_ all relaxed. But no, you _had_ to come aggravate it." With the sound of metal sliding against metal, a pair of gleaming silver cannons emerged on either side of the rear-row of seats; a dull hum filling the air as the inside of the barrels began to glow a faint pink. "You've _got_ to be kidding me.

Cyborg's eye widened. "... Uh oh." He locked eyes with Gar, and when they spoke next it was with one voice.

_Move!_

Garfield wasn't exactly sure what happened next. Trusting that Cyborg would be able to handle himself and tapping his powers almost on instinct, he shifted into a spider and scurried across the room, wedging himself between a pair of reinforced crates. He was nestled firmly between a box of computer parts and the wall when he heard a small explosion and a strange whooshing sound. A bright flash filled his vision. By the time he could see clearly again, all was silent. He strained his arachnid hearing, trying to get some kind of bearing on the berserker bike. But there was no revving of an alien engine, nor the ominous hum of plasma weaponry. The only thing he could hear was the sound of human breathing. _Thank God. You better still be in one piece, bro._ Moving his eight little legs as fast as he could, he sped out of his hiding place.

The Cycle was gone, but the window was still in one piece, and the room itself was pristine. He found Cyborg with arms crossed, staring at the far wall, scowling. Shifting back to normal, he jogged up to his large friend. "Vic! Are you alright? What the hell just happened?

"Just fine," Cyborg rumbled, all playfulness gone. "You?

"Alright." Gar said flatly, staring at the wall and becoming more confused by the second.

"Good." He sighed. "I thought it was trying to charge me, so I rolled out of the way. There was a bright flash, and by the time I looked up, I could see a Boom Tube closing.

Gar resisted the urge to slap himself. "Boom Tube. _Duh._ Guess that's why we still have four walls." He blinked. "Wait just a minute. So you're saying that thing just went off, by itself, who-knows-where, with weapon systems active?" Cyborg nodded grimly. "Damn. Now what?

Cyborg began moving for the exit. "We find Tim and tell him his ride just went nuts. He's Batman's partner--he's got to have at least three tracers on it. In the mean time, let's just hope it doesn't decide to roast anybody. _Come on._"

Gar fell in beside him as they ran down the hall, frowning all the way. "Figures this would happen when you and I are the only ones on watch," he muttered, all traces of humor gone from his voice.

The two of them piled into the nearest elevator. _If that thing goes berserk, we're screwed. The President's been itching for an opportunity to launch his damn Meta-Human Control Initiative. The last thing we need is a DEO with _more_ authority._ "I'm calling Tim." Pulling his communicator from his pocket, he switched to Tim's preset and thumbed the activation button. Loud, almost rhythmic screeching erupted from the tiny speaker. "What the hell?

Cyborg's frown deepened. "Hold on. I'll try mi--whoa!" With a mighty lurch, the elevator came to a sudden, screeching halt as the lights winked out.

Gar lost his footing and fell hard against the wall, a sickening crack echoing in the small chamber. _Ow!_ Damn it!" He tried moving his arm, and winced. "I think something just snapped. Great." _This is _not_ good._ Activating the spotlight in his shoulder, Cyborg swore.

_Wonderful._ More good news--my internal communicator's blown--jammed on all frequencies." He raised an arm as a panel slid open in his forearm, scrutinizing the small display. "Aw, man. Power's gone. Main, auxiliary, and backup. Security and communications'll be off line.

_Crap._ "And we're probably gonna have to climb out of here--I think we're between floors.

"I think that's the least of our--" Cyborg trailed off, raising an eyebrow. "You hear that?

_Oh, boy._ "I can't hear anything. What is it?

Cyborg grimaced. "Sounds like ... flapping."

* * *

Watching her father's cape disappear behind the curtain, Traya whimpered, and instantly felt foolish. She was a big girl--almost nine years old--and almost everybody she met couldn't help going on about how mature she had to be to be going to St Elias at such an early age, so why was she acting like a baby? Would Cassie or Cissie or Tim or Kon have panicked in her place? _No_._ They're never afraid_. And it wasn't like she wasn't used to her father rushing off to deal with nearby disasters. You had to be when your father was a reserve JLA member.

But as she squirmed in Mr. Byron's vice-like grip, Traya felt anything but reassured. And as the curtain started to settle, she realized abruptly what was off--this was the first time her father had willingly left she and her mother with a complete stranger to run off and fight who-knows-what. And it wasn't just herself she worried about; she wasn't big enough or strong enough to carry her mother if anything happened to Byron. The abrupt realization of just how helpless she would be without him did nothing to make her feel better. She felt her mother's hand close around hers, warm and soothing, and looked up into her worried face. She too was staring at the curtains, her mouth in a thin line. Her earlier elation all but forgotten, the uneasy feeling in her stomach ratcheted up a few notches. _Daddy...be careful..._

"Well," Byron said suddenly, a not-completely-reassuring smile on his wide face, "I guess we better get you two out of here, then.

The older woman nodded. "Good. I want Traya out of this building. And John, too." She sighed.

The usher's lips twitched up as he began moving for an exit marked "Employees Only." He kicked the door open and started down a dark, deserted hall. "I'm sure everything'll turn out as it should be, ma'am. This is a staff exit--with everyone helping out, it should be pretty deserted. I'll have you out of here in a few minutes.

_Weird_, Traya thought, _he seems ... more relaxed than he was when Daddy was here. Maybe he made him nervous._ Suddenly it occurred to her that something was different. "Hey, listen ... the explosions stopped.

Kathy's eyebrows knitted. "Yeah.

"Guess your pop found the trouble, kid. Its only a matter of time before everything gets sorted out now.

_I hope so._ Traya thought he sounded particularly upbeat. But she couldn't manage his almost flippant calm. No, all she could do was concentrate hard on keeping it together until her father came back. Then the three of them could get out of here.

Lost in thought, trying her best to stay calm, Traya was only vaguely aware of where they were. As the minutes passed, she noticed merely that they were making a number of twists and turns, but simply figured Byron was taking them through a more secluded, roundabout exit. She didn't dare put anymore thought into it. Just thinking about the idea of being lost made her shudder. And besides, she was only in trouble if she didn't know where she was _and_ happened to be alone. She didn't think Byron would abandon them anytime soon.

Apparently, her mother was a bit more comfortable with voicing her concerns. "Excuse me," she said finally, "as much as I appreciate what you're doing for us, are you sure you know where you're going? I don't understand why this is taking so long.

Byron shrugged, but his small smile never faltered. "Sorry, ma'am. I had to take the long way around--I didn't want to take you through any parts of the building that might've be unstable by the explosions." He stopped at a door, opening it with the hand he was using to balance Traya. "But don't either of you worry. This is it." He grinned, and hurried into the room, switching on a light with his shoulder as he passed though the door.

Traya gasped, confusion sweeping over her. This didn't look like an exit at all--more like a supply closet. The apprehension she'd felt earlier came flooding back. "Wha--?

"Hey!" The anger in her mother's voice was all at once reassuring--she wasn't the only one confused by what was happening--and almost panic-inducing. She had only seen her mother loose her cool once before, and that was when the DEO arrested her father. Not a pleasant experience. "This is _not_ an exit. What's going on?

"Easy, lady," Byron said, his voice low and calm, "I said I'd take care of you," he smiled again, and Traya felt her blood run cold as she saw the fangs in his mouth that hadn't been there before and heard her mother scream, "and that's _exactly_ what I'm going to do.

Still transfixed on those horrible teeth, Traya felt Byron's weight shift just a little to one side, and the next thing she knew her mother was flying through the air, a look of utter surprise on her face, not stopping until her head slammed into the far wall with a wet cracking noise. She groaned lightly, but didn't move.

_Mommy!_" Rational thoughts melted away from Traya's brain as she saw her mother laying on a pile of crates, dark, red blood pooling underneath her head. In that instant, she knew no fear, no panic, only that she had to get away from the _thing_ holding her. She started to struggle, thrashing her arms against his head and trying her best to squeeze out of the arm suddenly encircling her torso. But it was no use; not only was she not moving, he looked like holding her back was no effort at all. He simply stared at her mother, grinning and looking pleased. Terribly, terribly pleased. Suddenly, her mouth was moving, and she heard a voice very much like her own asking, "W-why?" She knew how terrified she sounded, how unlike her father or her friends she was acting, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Byron jerked her around until he was holding her by either shoulder, and raised her up so their eyes were level. Before she could react, Byron began changing--he seemed to grow taller, yet thinner, almost like taffy being pulled. His skin rippled and contracted, lightening gradually until it was pale enough to remind her of Lobo, contracting and expanding in places until she realized she was looking at a woman. The usher's uniform changed too, morphing into a skintight black leather jumpsuit. Her red, waist length hair clashed horribly with eyes like infected mucus. Through it all, his--no, her-- grip only tightened. "Because I really, _really_ want to ruin your day." Her voice was throaty and sent chills down Traya's spine.

Words were coming without much control on her part, and Traya felt more like an observer than a participant. "B-but who are you?" In the back of her mind, Traya realized this woman-thing had to be at least partly responsible for the explosions that started this whole disaster.

"Just someone who wants to see you scream, you little bitch. I'm sure you don't realize it yet, but you're going to cause me a lot of trouble one day. To tell you the truth, I was expecting a bit more resistance...guess I got to you before Timmy-boy started teaching you to bust heads like a truly over-dedicated maladjusted prick. Oh, well." She laughed again. "As for your mother ... she just happened to be in my way. But wasn't that an awesome crunch her head made? That takes a lot of practice to get right, let me tell you." The creature's grip tightened as she giggled, and Traya did indeed scream as sharp, stringing pain shot through her arms. Something warm and sticky slid over her hands, and she didn't have to look to know it was blood. She opened her mouth to plead, to beg this horrible monster to stop, but discovered to her horror that her addled mind could no longer form words. "You see, kiddo, the tough thing is, I can only do this once, so I've really gotta make it flashy, you know? Something I'll remember for a long time. I had something planned, but of course," she frowned, "my partner planned a surprise of his for you, and put a lot of work in it, so I can't very well make a hat out of your skull, now can I?

Traya looked in her eyes, and panic gave way to pure terror. She'd never seen that kind of _evil_ anywhere before, and had no doubt this thing really _did_ want to wear her skull for a hat. Something warm began trickling down her leg. "P-please...please stop...

The woman-thing laughed. "Well, that's not very superheroic, is it? And Robin and his friends let you hang out with them, _shame_ on you. So anyway," she spun around, slamming Traya so hard against wall black stars exploded across her vision, "I thought about taking you somewhere and playing with your mind until it imploded, but that takes too damn long. That really just leaves me with one option." Traya felt herself being pulled from the wall, and then dropped roughly on her stomach. A pair of clammy hands ripped the back of her dress open, and one stayed in place around her neck, holding her still, but before she could react, she heard the voice one more time. "How do you feel about branding?" Out of the corner of her eye, Traya could see the monster's free hand--and the five black claws at the end of her fingers. They disappeared, and she could feel them lightly caressing her shoulder when she finally found her voice. _Help! Somebody help! Daddy! Anybody!_

The monster laughed. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?" The thing pressed down hard against her skin, and Traya's world was filled with a terrible, stinging, burning pain worse than anything she had ever felt. And above it all a cold, gleeful cackle that burned itself into her memory...


	6. Hit the Road, Jack

A/N: Please see previous chapters for complete notes. Thanks to Virtual Faerie for beta-reading. Feedback, including constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated. I should note that chapter 7 is almost completed, but it may be a while before you see it. Finals are upon me. Enjoy.

Tim stuffed the last of his waffle cone in his mouth, knitting his eyebrows together and crunching loudly. He made a show of doing it slowly, and not just because he enjoyed the taste--it gave him a little extra time to figure out if Greta was being serious or not. He couldn't find one iota of mischief in her eyes, just a vague, unbelieving sort of disgust. _Which means she's not making this up._ "So," he muttered, "you're not kidding? He was actually hiding in her closet?"

"Wearing nothing but a towel. A _little_ towel. It barely covered his, well, you know." Her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, Greta scooped up a few of the larger crumbs from his napkin (hers was already quite clean) and popped them in her mouth. "That is the _last_ time we study at Cissie's, I swear. She was so embarrassed. I barely got through the final. Every time I tried to remember anything we went over that night, I ended up flashing back to Agent Maad trying to make sure his 'trumpet' was covered. I'm not so naive I didn't know what _that_ meant. Why did Bonnie have to call it that? Cassie just pointed and laughed ... big help there. At least Traya didn't see him. I would've hated explaining _that_ to Reddy..."

_Forget Reddy. Kathy would've gone ballistic._ Tim smirked, even though he knew it probably wasn't the best reaction. "You didn't do that bad; a 93 is pretty awesome. But still...Cissie and her mother really, _really_ need to work on learning each other's schedules." _Either that, or Bonnie and Maad need to stop having their little trysts in her living room._ Not that he was going to say that. If they were going to discuss sex in public outright, it certainly wasn't going to be creepy secret agent sex. Somewhere between talking about the harrows of final exams and their study habits, something had gone spectacularly awry. There were just some people you did _not_ want to imagine naked.

"I guess," Greta muttered. "I know I shouldn't care--Anita sure thought it was funny--but I don't know, I guess it still irks me. I mean, _them_ together. After everything Agent Maad did to ... to us. I just don't see how Bonnie could possibly trust him. Want to _be _with him." She sighed. "That probably makes me sound cold or something, doesn't it?"

Tim felt his jaw tighten. "It makes you smart. And you're not the only one with doubts. I'm not particularly happy with how far he's wormed his way into our lives myself." She raised her eyebrows. "He spent a lot of time trying," he had to choose his words carefully; this was really _not_ the best place to be having this kind of conversation, "to make our lives miserable before Anita's dad died. Whatever his real motives for deciding to stop playing zoot-suit stormtrooper, he's keeping them to himself; I don't think he's lying when he says he wants to be more supportive of Anita's ... after-school job ... but someone as dedicated as he was--there's gotta be something else going on his head. It could be completely harmless, but with his track record, I'm not ready to make any overly generous assumptions. If he wants my trust, he's going to have to earn it." _Let's just hope I'm wrong, and he actually shows some integrity if his boss ever asks for our names. Well, more names. He already has yours, and Cissie's, and ... this is depressing._

Greta nodded rigorously. "Ditto." She looked longingly at the crumbs remaining on the table, too small even for her. "I guess the thing with Bonnie is sort of our fault, isn't it? Nobody gave her too many details ... but it would've been wrong to try to turn her against him, wouldn't it?"

"You bet," Tim said quietly. "If he's really on the up-and-up--and our instincts aside, there's no evidence he's not; I've checked--we can't meddle. It's up to him how much he chooses to reveal." _Unless he crosses the line._

Greta blinked. "Whoa."

Tim shook himself out of his reverie. "What? Is there something on my face?"

She leaned forward. "No, but you're sure making one." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Glare any harder and you'll light the table on fire."

"Huh?" He scratched the back of his head. _Great job, Timbo. You just went from commenting on Greta seeing a naked man cowering in a closet--which should bother you more than it does--to acting like Bruce after Luthor announced he'd decided to go clean, in ninety seconds flat. Good form._ Of course, Lex did eventually end up trying to kill them all. Again. "Guess I did kind of click into it, didn't I? But," he smirked, "you started it." He stuck out his tongue.

Greta tilted her head to the side. "I thought _you_ were supposed to be mature." She smiled, grabbing his hand. He ran his thumb over her fingers, and was suddenly struck by just how small they were. "We've really got to stop doing this every other day."

"What?" Tim squeezed her hand lightly, her skin softer than silk.

"Stressing ourselves out over ... stuff ... we can't control." She winked. "It's not like there aren't dozens of people willing to do it for us." Her voice hit an even lower octave. "Usually while wearing bizarrely well-made costumes and threatening a major city with at least one doomsday weapon."

"Ha," Tim chuckled. She did have a point about the costumes. "Later, when we're somewhere a little more ... private, remind me to tell you about this crazy guy I ran into Wednesday night. Called himself the Condiment King. Brandished a mustard pistol. Not mustard gas. Just ... mustard. I almost got," he lowered his voice in what he hoped was a dramatic fashion, "_stained_."

Greta laughed. "Finally. A non-threatening idiot for me to hear about."

Tim grinned. "As opposed to the threatening idiots." _Of which there are far too many._

She brushed a few stray strands of hair away from her face. "Exactly." She looked out the window, sighing happily. "It's such a beautiful day."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." He thought for a moment, then had an idea. _No reason to go back to the manor yet._ "Hey, when was the last time you climbed a tree?" _I'm not the only one who can commandeer a conversation._

"Huh?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Seriously?" He nodded. "I don't know. Maybe when I was Traya's age." She blushed. "Why?"

"There's a park a few blocks from here. In the middle, there's this huge tree, and a nice little pond. On Sundays, some of the locals come out to mingle after church, and sometimes this guy with a guitar takes requests. I think he's an accountant. It's nice. And loud enough that we can sit in the tree and talk about whatever we want without being overheard. It just occurred to me we don't get to do a lot outdoors when you're here ... Gotham's usually too busy being doom central."

She giggled lightly. "No kidding. Sounds like fun." Her eyes twinkled. "And now Traya will actually have a reason to sing that tree song."

"What?" _You've gotta be kidding me._

"She does it when Cissie and Cassie are trying to grill me about our dates. 'Tim and Greta, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.' And it goes on. I wonder where she came up with it." A light smirk crossed her face. "Of course, Cissie usually joins in, and that isn't nearly so cute."

_And Reddy was worried about what would happen if Traya couldn't socialize with people her own age._ Tim didn't have the heart to tell Greta she was supposed to have picked that one up in fifth grade. There was no reason to open that wound again. Experience wasn't everything. "I love you, Greta."

She blushed, but her eyes sparkled. "I love you too, Tim, more than I ever thought possible."

He took one of her small hands in both of his. "Sometimes, I wonder if I don't say that often enough."

"I wouldn't worry about that." She pulled his hands toward her, brushing his knuckles lightly with her lips. "You always mean it, unlike some people. That's more important than quantity, as far as I'm concerned." Greta slipped out of her chair. "Come on. Now you've got me wanting to climb your tree."

He decided it would be best to let that one slide, too.

* * *

"So," Greta said, wrapping one of her arms around Tim's as they strolled down the sidewalk. They passed the occasional pedestrian, but the little neighborhood was pretty quiet. "I know it's none of my business, but are Alfred and Dr. Thompkins, um, well ... together? I've sort of been wondering."

Tim chuckled. Now _this_ was the fun kind of spontaneous conversation. "Honestly? No one knows. And they're not telling. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure _they_ know."

Greta elbowed him. "I'm serious."

"Me too," his lips twitched. "Why do you think Bruce has so much trouble with women? When he's really trying, I mean. Alfred and Leslie were his models for proper male-female behavior when he was a kid, and they send more mixed signals than, well, Gar and Raven."

Greta whistled. "That's harsh, Tim." She looked at him pointedly. "Sometimes, people have trouble coming to grips with their feelings."

_Danger, Will Robinson._ "Point. I know I shouldn't pick on him, but you know that European cruise--the reunion with his old SAS buddies that we aren't supposed to know about--they're going on next month? Alfred's explanation for taking Leslie had a lot to do with 'keeping up appearances so his friends don't start trying to fix him up with every unmarried Lady and Dame in Western Europe.'"

Greta snorted. "He actually said that?"

He smirked. "According to Bruce. Now tell me, don't you think a master actor could fake being married for ten days if he _really_ wanted to keep a bunch of randy old guys off his back? He could even lament his wife's not being able to come because she has terrible motion sickness. _Easy._ But no, Leslie is absolutely essential to his ruse. And don't get me started on how his eyes gleamed when she agreed to go on a tour of the theater where he did most of his performing. Sort of reminded me of Bernard when he won that Gucci tour. Only, this time I'm not gonna get a pair of free shoes out of the deal ..."

"Okay," she sighed, "you're right. They need help. Any ideas?"

"I thought about an ... intervention, but decided against it. I mean, what if something went wrong? Alfred keeps me in gourmet food and clean clothes, and Leslie keeps me in one piece. If I alienated both of them, I'd end up eating nothing but grilled cheese and take-out food, all my whites would eventually turn hot pink, and I'd have to get all my medical care from S.T.A.R. Labs--the place where they like to do everything with 'medical probes.'" He shuddered.

She shook her head. "I thought Dick was teaching you how to cook."

Tim puffed out his chest. "He is. Unlike some people, _I_ can make grilled cheese without catching the bread on fire." He shrugged. "Seriously, I don't know if there's anything I could do. I've prodded them both a little, but neither of them is willing to admit anything, unless gratuitous blushing counts. It's not like I'm the love-master, myself."

"Me neither. Too bad they don't have Cissie and Cassie working on them. That works really well, don't you think?" Her grin was impish, and he wished he had a camera.

He returned the gesture in full force. "Oh, definitely." _Thank God for competent matchmakers._

"Yeah," she tightened he grip on his arm. "It would've probably been better to tell them their plan worked before they walked in on us--what did Cissie call it--'trying to suck each other's brains out.'" She shook her head. "At least Bart and Kon weren't there."

_Thank God._ "I don't think she minded too much," Tim mused, "not the way she and Cassie were squealing." _My ears ring just thinking about it._ "And hey, I can't help it if you make me a little ... _impulsive_ ... sometimes."

She chewed on her lip, knitting her eyebrows together as if in deep thought. "Hmm ... I've always sort of wondered what you would look like with long hair."

He felt his cheeks getting hot. "Really? Cause I've been thinking of growing a ponyta--_Argh!_"

He screamed more out of surprise than pain, but the white light that filled his eyes was so intense, for an instant Tim was sure his retinas were toast. Greta's pained hiss told him she'd got a pretty good blast of it too. Not a little bit of anger and an unwelcome twinge of fear--he wasn't packing any of his equipment except a communicator, and without her powers, Greta had only a few months self-defense training at St. Elias to fall back on if things got nasty. It wasn't anywhere near as intense as if she were training to put on tights and a cape. Bruce had given her a pocket-sized Bat-taser for Christmas, but she still wasn't too comfortable with anything having to do with raw electricity. But he shoved those feelings, and every other bit of doubt he had, deep into the recesses of his brain. Mask or no, whoever dared put Greta in danger was going to have to deal with Robin, and Robin didn't do doubt.

Knowing there was no time to waste if they really were being attacked (by who, he had no idea--the short list of villains that used strobe lights as part of their arsenal were all incarcerated at the moment, and muggers weren't likely to drag anything powerful enough to make that big a flash around, especially in broad daylight), he willed his eyes open as he dropped into a defensive position, slightly surprised to discover that, aside from a massive afterimage, everything was still in working order. _Not as intense as I thought. Good._ Greta was rubbing her eyes, a sharp frown pulling at her face. "Are you okay?" He glanced around quickly, his frown deepening when he couldn't find the source. _Weird._

She nodded, her hair's quick bobbing strangely reassuring. "No worse than when those photographers mobbed us at the last Wayne Foundation party." She pressed herself against him slightly, and despite the calm in her voice, he could feel the tension almost radiating off her as she looked around. "What _was_ that?"

_Good question._ "I don't ... wait a minute, do you hear that?" The noise was low, a cross between an electrical hum and an engine revving. It took a few seconds to recognize, but when he did, he felt himself relax a little. _Not a threat, at least._ He looked toward the alley. "What's it doing here?"

"What?" she hissed. "Don't leave me hanging. You know my ears aren't as sharp as yours."

_Sure they are. You just don't know how to use them._ "The Super-Cycle," he whispered. "It's in the alley, between the Chocolate Factory and the salon."

"Wha--why? Are you sure?" Most of her tension vanished, but there was enough left to tell him she was still _not_ happy.

_That makes two of us._ "The engine has a very distinctive sound." _And it wants something_. A knot formed in his stomach. That was _never_ good. _Can't just ignore it, though._ He grabbed Greta's hand. "Come on."

Her grip was like steel. "I have a bad feeling about this, Tim." But even before the last word left her lips, she was at his side, almost pulling him along.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "Me too."

They found it at the very back of the alley, nestled between a pair of dumpsters. It was just sitting there, revving its engine. "Now what?" Greta asked quietly.

_Cannons are active. Standby mode. Wonderful. _Tim tossed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll try to figure out what he wants. Stay here." He started to pull away, then stopped. "On second thought, you better come with me, just in case it decides to take off after I get in and isn't in the mood to listen. I'm _not_ leaving you in the middle of a Gotham alley."

Her frown looked almost painful now. "Right."

Tim moved forward quickly, vaulting into the pilot's seat and pulling Greta into the seat in front of him. The half-sentient bike's urgent quaking died down, just a bit, and his mouth fell into a thin line. _Well, that's an improvement. And we're still on the ground._ "Just a second. Alright boy, what is it? Tell me you're just annoyed with Gar." His eyes found the status display, and the last traces of his good mood vanished from his mind.

The message was illuminated in cool blue. _"Danger! Assist at once! Autopilot set. Engage immediately."_

_Oh. Damn._ Tim tried the handlebars, not really surprised when they failed to budge even an inch. He leaned over the stalk. "We have a problem. It's flashing 'danger' in big letters and locked on autopilot ... it wants to take us there so we can help. I think." _Not good. Not good at all._

Greta paled slightly. "Wasn't the last time it did something like this when I ..."

_Uh uh. Not going there._ "Were under _his_ influence, yes," Tim whispered. "But I don't get it," he continued quickly. "If there's some kind of major disturbance, Oracle would've called by now." The mild unease he'd felt at the sight of the Cycle was turning into a cold, tight ball in the pit of his stomach. _Something's _very_ wrong here._

"Can you check with her?" Greta whispered. She tossed a sidelong glance back at the street. Tim followed her gaze, narrowing his eyes. It _would_ look very suspicious if anyone came along and decided to peer down the alley.

_Good thing most people in this city are too afraid of them to peek, even during the day._ People dumped dead bodies in alleys, after all. "Give me a second." Fishing his cell phone from his pocket, he flipped it open. His frown jerked down a few notches. _Account not initialized? What? Let's try the private channels._ Keying in the access code for Oracle's private frequency, he put the handset to his ear.

Nothing. Not even static. The knot in his stomach twisted. _Frequency's completely dead. Even the answering machine. Oh, boy._ "Oracle's offline." _Maybe it's just a glitch with the secure channel._ His fingers moved like lightning over the keys, but it was all for naught--Batman's normal frequencies, the JLA and Titans' systems, even the GCPD and GCFD network: everything emitted the same high pitched, almost painful screech. "Jammed. It's all jammed, police and emergency services included," he growled. "And the regular phone's acting like I don't have an account on the network."

He didn't have to see her when she spoke to sense her growing anxiety. "How can that happen?" She pulled out her own phone, but all it did was make a series of angry beeping sounds. "Uh oh."

"It can't," Tim hissed. "Not by accident at least. There are just too many failsafes for _everything_ to fail all at once, unless--"

"Somebody knocked them out on purpose," Greta finished darkly. "Something tells me you better get this thing off the ground, Tim."

"Yeah," he muttered, feeling his training wash over him, sharpening every detail of his surroundings. "I don't know how, but it's looking that way. We've dallied enough; we need some answers, and I'm pretty sure that's what the Cycle's here to deliver. I keep a spare suit in the back--oh, _damn._" He leaned over the stalk, peering at Greta almost disbelievingly. "What am I thinking?" Later, he would realize saying that to her face was dumb.

"What?" Greta raised an eyebrow. "You're looking at me like I've grown a second head or something."

"I ... I," _might as well spit it out_, "I can't take you with me. I mean, it could be--probably is--dangerous. And I can't call Alfred, or just leave you here without knowing what's going on. It isn't safe. I--"

"_Tim._" Exasperation laced her voice, and he had the distinct impression she wanted to thump him. "I remember how to keep my head down. Like you said, we're short on time. The Cycle will unlock once it takes us wherever it wants to go. Just program the autopilot to go somewhere safe, and if things get really nasty, I'll be gone in an instant. If anyone gets too nosy, I'll just say you rescued me." She smirked lightly. "Not like I'd be lying."

Tim blinked. He knew that tone; he wasn't going to win this one. _And she's right, anyway._ "You'd better buckle in." She did just that, but surprised him by leaning forward and grasping the twin joysticks that controlled the weapon systems. _Guess you remember a few other things, too._ He scowled, inevitability so sour he could almost taste it lapping at his mind. _Nearly a year without dragging her into the fire with me. Guess it could have been worse._ "Ready?"

She grinned thinly. "I learned a long time ago to be ready for anything when I'm with you. Let's do it.

* * *

Robin frowned as he fiddled with the communicator in his ear. Almost everything was still dead, except for one channel. Apparently the GCPD was trying to get things up and running again, but all they'd managed to do was turn on the time and temperature system. In Spanish. Batman's secure frequencies were still vacant--he was beginning to suspect Oracle's equipment had been somehow damaged, and that Alfred had yet to return to the Cave. There had been no playful banter this time as he shed his clothes and donned the spare suit. It was lightly armored, similar to the one Bruce kept behind a picture in his Wayne Enterprises office and virtually identical to his normal eveningwear, minus all but the most essential blunt-trauma and bulletproof plating, skimpier on the Kevlar-Nomex in spots, and lacking some of his more esoteric equipment--necessary for storage in tight places, but not nearly so effective as the one he kept in the Cave if he got nailed with anything bigger than a pocketknife or a nine-millimeter. Not that he was going to mention any of these deficiencies to his girlfriend. Greta had merely stared silently at the opening of the alley twenty feet ahead of them as he changed, rolling a pair of smoke grenades between her fingers and watching for anyone who happened to actually pay attention to their surroundings.

Greta thrust the grenades at him when he made it back to the pilot's seat (just over a minute from shedding his pants and shirt to applying his mask), almost calmly suggesting he press the big green "Engage" button before they actually had to use them. He smiled reassuringly as he took them, not failing to note the slight smudging of her lip gloss, reminiscent of teeth marks, at the edge of her mouth. She was far more nervous than she wanted to let on, but he had no intention of calling her on it. As he activated the autopilot, he'd inwardly mused, _That makes two of us, beautiful._

The Cycle instantly rendered itself and its passengers intangible (always an interesting if not slightly nauseating sensation) and dropped straight down into the Gotham sewer system--rusting pipes, half-dead lighting, liquid streams filled with thousands of swimming rats and who knew what else almost glowing under the Cycle's strobe light--and speeding off at what felt like at least a hundred miles an hour.

They'd been blasting along now for at least five minutes. Greta had turned a shade of green not unlike the mint ice-cream she'd been peacefully eating mere minutes before, and he suspected it wasn't just the aromatic charm of the sewer gas. The Cycle had taken so many twists and turns, even phasing through a black, sludge covered wall here and there, that even he wasn't sure exactly where they were anymore.

_We're still in Gotham. Why?_ The problems with communications they were having made it quite clear something was indeed wrong in the city, but he had no idea why the _Super-Cycle_ was intervening. _It's never reacted this way to a citywide disaster here before. And it's certainly had plenty of opportunity. Why didn't they bother putting some kind of button on this thing to make it say where it was going?_ He checked his comm. again. Aside from the addition of English to the all-temperature-all-the-time channel, nothing. It occurred to him to check the commercial radio, but he couldn't pick up anything. _Concrete and plumbing must be too thick. Figures._ There was nothing to do now but wait. _Wonderful. Yikes!_ The Cycle took another sharp turn, and Tim grunted as he bent forward in an attempt to keep his head on his shoulders. _Damn ceiling pipes._ "How're you doing down there?" He had to yell to be heard over the almost mind-numbing howl of flying through such a narrow tunnel at race-car speed.

She didn't look up at him; she was too busy crushing her arm-wrests in a white knuckled grip and staring at her feet. "_Peachy!_" she screamed. "Would I sound immature if I told you there was a very small part of me missing not having a stomach right now? Or a nose? I know I should be worried about other things, but _ugh!_" She gagged, closed her nostrils with her fingers, and took several deep breaths.

"Not at all," he shot back, "I was sort of wishing the same thing. But it washes off with a little tea-tree shampoo. Off us, at least." She didn't move her hands, but tossed him a skeptical look. "More than fifteen minutes down here, and we'll have to burn the clothes. I've lost more suits that way. But you just can't be stealthy when you smell like Oscar the Grouch."

She groaned. "At least we haven't run into any poo."

_Hey!_ "You're going to be bringing that up for a while, aren't you?"

Her shoulders rose and fell several times. Wind-chime giggles he couldn't hear. "I saw the photo. You were _pouting_."

He was trying to come up with a witty retort when the Cycle suddenly titled up and started phasing through the ceiling. Greta fell silent as all the mirth faded from her face, and he narrowed his eyes. "Here we go." _Let's see what you called us for, boy._ He tightened his grip on the still-useless throttle as she coiled her fingers around joysticks that controlled the particle cannons, which, he noted, she hadn't yet activated. _You never were trigger-happy. God, I just hope you don't have to fire them._ He tried to console himself by focusing on how relaxed she looked, but he couldn't see her eyes when she was looking straight forward and her neck and shoulders could only say so much. They were through the structural supports now, coming up on the oily underside of a street. And unless he was mistaken, they were slowing down._ Now what are we going to end up in the middle of?_ "Hang on!"

"What do you think I'm doing!"

Sunlight and cool air washed over them as they blasted through the middle of an intersection before leveling out about four stories up and cruising forward. Tim looked down, finding several clusters of nearly identical roofs. _Brownstones._ His eyes swept over the neighborhood, looking for anything out of the ordinary. _No fires, rioting people, or gunfire. No sign of any kind of struggle. Just a bunch of houses, a few gazebos, and one swimming pool shaped like the Gotham Knights logo-- _"Oh my God!" He felt his skin go clammy as he tried one more time to wiggle the steering column. Nothing. _If anything's happened to them ... oh God._

Greta turned and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? What do you see?"

Robin shook his head sharply. _Get it together._ "I didn't recognize--I'm not used to seeing all this from so far up--but I know that pool. It belongs to the guy that owns the Knights." _Just don't head west._ The Cycle banked hard to the right and started heading towards the slightly drooping sun. _No!_

"Ti--Robin, I still don't understand."

"I know where we are," Tim breathed, "We're less than fifteen miles from my house, and heading straight for it. As fast as we're going, we should be able to see it in a minute." He shook the handlebars. "Why are you slowing down now?" he growled. The Cycle, as usual, ignored him.

Greta blinked. "Your house? But we're nowhere near the Manor--oh. _Oh._" Her voice lowered to a whisper, and a little bit of color drained from her cheeks. "Your parents." He nodded quickly. "You think the Cycle's bringing us to them? That they're in trouble?"

_About thirty seconds 'till we'll be able to see the house. We'd be seeing smoke already if there was a fire ... What the hell is going on here?_ "Nothing else around here looks spectacularly out of the ordinary. No sign of any kind of large disturbance. But every communication tool we have is utterly and inexplicably dead--someone did their best to make sure no one could call us for help. The Cycle came to us; it could have gone to any of the others if it wasn't planning on doing all the driving. And like you said, the Cycle only acts like this during an emergency."

He felt like he had to keep talking, that it was the only thing keeping him from losing it, but he found himself suddenly out of words. Batman had taught him all about keeping his head in tense situations, but all he could think about was his father, and the final, horrible words they exchanged that night so many months ago. _That can't be the last thing I say to him. I won't _allow_ it._ And Dana--who practically forced herself back into his life in a way he never expected, always there with advice and words of encouragement more useful than she could possibly imagine--he already considered her one of his best friends when his father married her, but never expected, or wanted, her to replace his mother. It was one of the unspoken rules of their relationship. And she never tried. But over the years, they had developed something ... different. He wasn't sure what exactly, or how to describe it, only that somewhere along the line she had stopped just being his father's wife, and became his parent.

And no one was taking another parent from him.

The Cycle made a graceful arc to the left, and Tim's eyes fell on his father's brownstone. A wave of relief swept over him: it was still standing. The Cycle began descending, circling slowly. _Thank God! Okay. Now what?_

"_There! Look!_" Greta took a hand off the controls long enough to point down at something. He followed her gaze, and the near panic returned in full force.

Much, much later, when he actually had time to think about it, he would decide it was the overwhelming relief of not discovering a smoldering crater with a pair of corpses in it that had momentarily blunted his attention to detail. That had to be the reason he didn't immediately notice all the cracks, fissures, and strange depressions in the concrete and asphalt, or the dozens of long, jagged splits crisscrossing the wood and mortar of the house like so many slash marks. But it wasn't any of these things Greta meant to draw his attention to. His eyes fell on the living room window--completely shattered--just in time to see the flash illuminate the outline of something large, dark, and distinctly _not_ human as the sound of revolver fire reached his ears. _"_What the _hell_?" In the back of his mind, he felt vaguely reassured: dead people couldn't fire guns.

Greta's hands found their way back to the weapon controls, but they didn't look nearly so relaxed as they had before. "What _was_ that?"

Anger flashed though him. _Something_ was in there with them, trying to hurt them. Robin jerked the finally unlocked handlebars around, making sure the Cycle stayed locked in a circling pattern, and punched coordinates into the Boom Tube controls as quickly as his fingers would move. "I'm about to find out. I've set the autopilot to open a Boom Tube directly to the Cave. If anything happens, press the green button on your console and _get out of here_. And if you need to talk to me," he opened a compartment in his belt and pulled out a small, black earpiece, careful to switch it on and set the channel before tossing it to her, "use this. It's set to Batman's secure frequency--it didn't go down with the rest so it'll hopefully stay up until we get a better idea of what's going on."

He was already perched on the side of the Cycle, ready to jump--only fifteen feet to the roof now, no problem--when she called after him. "Be careful, Robin."

He released the purple alien steel, taking a fistful of cape in each hand and turning to look at her. "You too. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you." He tossed a glance at the clock under the Boom Tube controls. _Ten minutes since the alley. That'll have to be good enough._

"That makes two of us."

Her nervous smile burned itself into his memory as he propelled himself into the air, Jack Drake's roof zooming towards him fast enough to alarm any reasonably sane person. His mouth fell into a thin line. _Hope you'll be happy to see me, Dad._

* * *

"Bye-bye, Mom. I love you too--give Daddy a kiss and a hug for me." Dana tapped the off switch on the cordless phone and dropped it on the couch next to her, a contented sigh escaping her lips. If the last year had taught her anything, it was the importance of keeping her relationship with her parents in good shape--and that meant talking to them more than just a dozen times a year as holidays or either her or her mother's need to vent demanded.

At first her parents were sure something was terribly wrong with her, or Jack, or "that darling little boy nice enough to visit with your father at your wedding." Her denials weren't exactly a lie; nothing was _physically_ wrong with any of them. _Not so little anymore. Was he ever?_

Her smile faded. They wanted to come for a visit. Ordinarily, she would've been thrilled--they'd only been twice since the wedding--but neither knew just how bad it was between Tim and Jack. She didn't have the heart to admit it. Besides, there was no way without lying to her parents, and she just couldn't do that. _Tim actually had a good reason; I'm just being a heel._ _Besides, I'm a terrible liar._ As much as she hated it, she had no choice but to dance around the question--it was the only way to get her mother off the phone and figure out what to do--but it left her feeling more than a little greasy.

And it wasn't like she was going to try asking Jack for advice. He was actually showing signs of progress after their little chat the day before. She hadn't failed to notice, stepping into his office earlier in search of a pen that actually worked, the Gotham ISD grade report tacked to his bulletin board. It made her smile, if only because she hadn't put it there. _Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Of course, it's not like it isn't the most proactive thing he's done in months. Hell._ She frowned. She thought she'd actually, _finally_ gotten through to him, but she had to throw the fact that his relationship with his son was almost destroyed beyond repair in his face to do it. Something he should've figured out on his own. Tacked up report cards were nice, but starting to fix things would take a level of initiative she wasn't sure his sullen, bruised ego was ready for.

She swung her bare feet up and stretched out on the couch. Hooking a finger on one of her jeans' belt-loops, she fished under the pillows for the remote and glanced at the clock over the TV. _2:30_._ Maybe they're still doing that _Lethal Weapon_ marathon on TBS._ There were few bad moods Mel Gibson's toned, 1980s butt couldn't fix, at least for a little while. Jack was barricaded in his office so she would be left with her Mel undisturbed. _Bliss._

Suddenly, a great cracking, smashing noise filled her ears as the floor shuddered beneath her. "Wha--_ah!_" She screamed as the rug a few feet away from her exploded upwards in a shower of fabric, dust, and shattered flooring with enough force to tip the couch backwards. Dana fell hard on her back, tiny white stars exploding in front of her eyes.

"Ow..." she groaned, her rattled brain momentarily void of anything save the pain radiating from the back of her head. "What the hell--" Then she heard it: slow, rhythmic flapping. _Wings?_ Her mind pulled itself together enough to remind her exactly _why_ she was laying on her back. _Something just came though the floor. Something with wings._ A wave of confusion rolled through her, even as she flipped painfully onto her stomach. _Don't panic. Could be anything_, she thought. She sprang up quick as her now throbbing head would allow, and spun towards the noise. All rational thought in her head abruptly died, the white noise of unbridled terror taking its place.

The thing hovering over the hole in the floor was huge--it would have towered over her even had it not been floating in midair--its wide, bare, muscle-laden body dark as polished onyx. But similarity to anything remotely human ended there. Its thick, wrinkled fingers ended in jagged claws that glistened under the florescent light. A pair of scaly black wings extended out from its back, flapping languidly. All this was enough to terrify her, but it was the sight of its face that set off an explosion of paralyzing horror in her chest, cold dread that closed around her heart like a fist.

Its skull was horribly angular, almost poking through the thin, grey, rotten-looking skin stretched over its cheeks. Its mouth sparkled with two rows of sharp, yellow teeth dripping with something thick and green. Its eyes were the worst: sunken, cloudy pupils like she'd seen in so many horror movies. It could have so easily been a dream or special effects. Except, she met those decayed eyes, and knew it was real. In the back of her mind, she was dimly aware of her own screaming.

The creature drifted forward, its drool sizzling and smoking as it hit the floor. Something deep in Dana's brain snapped to attention. _ Run! Get help!_ But there was nowhere to go--her back was mere feet from the wall, the thing in between her and the only door. _Oh God. Ohmygod. Come on, Dana. Think._ Where the hell was Jack? Her blood ran cold. Had one of _them_ showed up in his office? Her mind flashed with the image of one of them towering over him, its claws buried in his chest, blood gushing from his open, stilled mouth. _No!_ The tiny little voice in her head trying maintain a semblance of logic tossed that thought aside, leaving a single instruction in its place. _Distract it and run!_ She stepped backwards, her foot hitting something hard. Her eyes darted to the floor. The remains of the phone and next to that ... _floor plank. Floor plank with jagged edges._ Slowly, very slowly, she knelt, not daring to break eye contact with the creature in front of her, and wrapped her fingers around the broken flooring before straightening up.

Dana gritted her teeth, her heart pounding in her ears, adrenaline dulling the worst of the fear. Maybe she wasn't a superhero, but she wasn't just going to stand there like a hopeless damsel and wait for the thing to come kill her, either. _Alright, just hit it hard in the eyes and run. Get Jack and get out of the house. Call police. Tim._ She spun the wood in her hand, looking for a good grip. Another tiny voice, not nearly so helpful, grimly wondered if Tim would even stand a chance against this _monster_, if maybe it wasn't better that he was probably far, far away so he couldn't try. The creature was maybe three feet away, still slowly drifting forward. She tightened her grip on the wood, pushing her fear as far down as it would go. _Now!_ She swung forward, the flooring sailing from her hand like a dart, right towards those horribly inhuman eyes. She started to move.

She felt the roar deep in her belly as it snapped the projectile out of the air--it froze her in place all over again. She barely managed to duck when it returned the volley, the plank nothing more than a brown-yellow blur as it passed over her head, and landed hard on her tailbone. For a moment, she considered trying to climb through it. _Too high. No way to get up there._ The thing moved forward again, claws outstretched, faster now. She had no doubts about what it was planning to do. "_No!_" Her mouth moved of its own accord."_Get away!_ _Jack! Anyone!_" She tried to stand, but her legs were so much jelly. _No_, she thought dimly,_ no, not like this._

It was almost on top of her when a shotgun blast pierced her ears. The creature jolted forward, a baseball sized hole in its chest gushing more green-black slime. _Jack!_ She never thought she could be so overjoyed at the sound of a gun going off. It roared again and beat its wings harder, trying to lunge forward, but another round tore into its left wing, then its right. A fourth blast, and its head exploded in a shower of slime brighter than all the rest. It splattered her clothes and she had to jerk her hands over her face to keep it out of her eyes, but that didn't matter--she wasn't going to die. The twitching remains fell from the air, hitting the floor with a thud before bouncing into the gaping pit in the floor. She heard the sound of heavy feet running towards her.

"Dana!" She pulled her hands away from her eyes just in time to see her husband dashing towards her in the same khakis and Oxford shirt he'd worn to church mere hours before, a smoking shotgun in his right hand and fear like she'd never seen burning in his eyes. Another heartbeat and his big arms were around her, her vision filled with white cotton. "I heard a crash, and then you were screaming like--I thought you were dying--_What the hell was that?_"

He almost had her off the ground, and she had her own vice-grip on his ribs. Only when she tried to speak did she realize her own trembling. The words came tumbling out. "Don't know. It came through the floor. Jack ... oh God, it was horrible. You didn't see its face. It was like a corpse! And those claws and teeth! I just knew it was going to tear me apart. I tried to get away, but I--I--" Her voice fell into long, thick sobs. She felt one of his big hands stroking her hair, and almost shuddered.

"Shh ... it's alright now," he whispered, voice low, growly with some mix of emotions she was too shaken to decode. But she didn't miss the warmth, a velvety, comforting tone she hadn't heard from him since he'd deemed her complicit in Tim's insurrection. It made her already exhausted heart skip a beat. "I've got you. I won't let anything hurt you." Then, almost to himself, "That thing was going to kill you. Oh, God. I'm ... I'm sorry. I love you, Dana. So much."

She blinked watery eyes. "Jack? This--this isn't your fault..."

"No," he was looking past her now, towards the pit in their floor, "I know, I just," his voice trailed off, and when it came back it was thick with urgency. "We have to get out of here, and find somewhere to call the police. I was on the phone in my office right before I heard you. It went dead. We've got to get out of here." His eyes were bright with moisture and worry. "Come on. Hurry." He wrapped an arm around her waist and started leading her forward, towards the gaping hole in the floor, guiding her still-wobbly legs past the puddles of smoking goo.

They had only taken a few steps when the floor under them began quaking slightly. Jack reacted first, tightening his grip on her and clutching the overturned couch to steady himself. The sound of beating filled Dana's ears again, louder. She paled. _More?_ "Jack, do you hear that? That's what the monster sounded--"

The entire floor shifted under them this time, several paintings and vases and overvalued little trinkets shattering on the ground as the whole room shifted. Their gigantic television fell from its place, landing in a shower of glass and smoke. They toppled forward in a heap, Jack's shotgun flying from his hand and rolling into the pit. "_Oof_," he groaned, helping Dana up. "What in blazes?"

"We've got to run, Jack," Dana screamed. "_Now!_"

But it was too late. They surged from the hole like a great black serpent, all the same, forming a fanged, clawed, flapping barricade between them and their only escape. Jack sucked in a breath, eyes wide. "_Jesus_."

Dana pressed herself against him. She was too spent to totally panic again, but she felt that certainty she was going to die sneaking back up on her. In the back of her mind, a little voice demanded to know why, where the things had come from, but it was pointless. "Jack," she whispered, "w-what now?" She caught his eyes, saw the fear and uncertainty growing there, and her heart sank. Jack wasn't a pushover, but he was only human. If he tried to fight so many of them, they would kill him. Period. Even if she somehow survived. _Please, God, don't let him die. Please. I need him. Tim needs him._ Their wings thundered in concert, barely a whisper over the blood rushing in her ears.

He stepped in front of her, pulling a revolver from his pocket. She recognized it immediately. It was the same weapon he kept in his desk drawer, the one he'd threatened Bruce Wayne with. And even though she didn't know a whole lot about guns, she _did_ know it only held eight shots. Eight for more than thirty demons from hell.  
Not good enough. "J-Jack ... "

"I-I-I'll think of something," he whispered, his tone making it quite clear he couldn't think of anything. "We'll be fine."

The wall of creatures stopped their quivering for a moment, and then began to advance. Slowly. _And why hurry? There's nowhere to run._ The world blurred in front of her, and it took several precious moments for her to realize she was crying. Her ears rang with the somehow distant sound of revolver fire and some of the foulest language she'd ever heard; she saw sparks fly off one of the creatures as hot lead bounced off its chest. _Not even a scratch. Oh, God._ Jack's free hand entwined with one of her own. The things were close enough now she could make out the etching in those vicious, yellowing teeth. "I love you too, Jack." She closed her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder as he fired the last of his rounds, her world nothing more than fearsome beating, unnatural roars, and the unmoving warmth of her husband. _Figures I'd wait for death with my eyes closed..._

But it wasn't to be. She heard something like a firecracker going off and a tinkling crash, saw a bright, near blinding light through her eyelids, and the demonic roars died, their flapping suddenly disjointed. Next to her, Jack's body tensed and slacked several times in a row as he gasped, words forming and dying deep in his throat. On the very edge of her hearing, she made out a sound that reminded her of a sail in the wind. Then the voice--firm, unafraid, unequivocal: "_Back off."_ Her eyes snapped open, relief and a brand new fear warring for control of her mind.

The horde had fallen back into a semi-circle in the midst of an already dissipating grey-green fog, several chunks of plaster, and the shattered remains of a crystal chandelier. It stung her eyes and burned her nostrils if she breathed too deep. She noticed Jack's upturned chin out of the corner of her eye, jerking her own face to the ceiling. "My God_."_

Perched on the side of a hole in the ceiling that wasn't supposed to be there, cloaked in a black cape and casting a white, pupilless glare on all he surveyed, was Tim. His head quirked towards her, white pools meeting her eyes for the briefest of moments, and she gulped. She'd seen him in costume dozens of times, but those lenses had never seemed so emotionless, his face so vacant of warmth. All she could find was cold anger and determination, and it sent another chill down her spine, heavier than the last. This wasn't Tim, or even the smiling boy in the costume that came to visit her every week. _This_ was Robin. The Urban Legend. And he was angry.

She thought she saw his face soften for an instant, the sides of his mouth twitching up in a reassuring grin, but it was gone before she could be certain she wasn't imagining it. He leaned forward, falling into the void.

His arms flew out to his sides as he fell, gathered bunches of black-yellow cape wrapped in his fists. He seemed to almost float through the air. He rolled forward as he landed and sprang up with his back to them, the muscles in the back of his neck poised like cobras ready to strike. His head tilted back in her direction, just a bit. "Are you hurt?" Even through the forced deep, near monotone, his concern was palpable. Her Tim _was_ in there somewhere, after all.

* * *

"F-fine ... Robin. We're both fine."

_Thank God. _"Good," Robin hissed, teeth clenched. "Everything's going to be alright. Trust me." _Okay. Now what?_ He reached backwards, unclipping his collapsed staff from the small of his back, his finger hovering over the release. _Not yet ... why aren't those things moving?_

It was simple enough to get in the house. The thermal binoculars in his belt gave him an excellent picture of just what exactly he would be jumping into once he broke through the master bedroom floor: a cool blue army of flying Wes Craven rejects unlike anything he'd ever seen before. They were big, nasty, and had his family backed to a wall, about to work them over with inch-long claws. He could worry about why later--whatever the reason, the things had picked the _wrong_ house to make their Gotham debut. He didn't need to know anything else. His parents were still alive and in one piece, after all, and he planned to keep it that way--loosing a handful of mini-grenades, flashbangs, and teargas pellets, jumping into the fray. But even as he pushed off the ledge, he couldn't help eyeing his father, looking at him for the first time in nearly a year. He felt tears trying to form in his eyes. He'd never expected their reunion to be pleasant, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help thinking, _it's not supposed to be like this._

And now they were just standing there, barely reacting to the teargas at all as far as he could tell, watching him. The stillness was more irksome than movement would have been--in his experience, calms really _did_ lead to nasty storms. And he was really starting to wonder why his father was being so damned quiet. _That look in his eyes when I came in ... he's bordering on shock. Great._ Their eyes and flesh reminded him of decomposing bodies and smelt of rotting plants; it made him faintly nauseous. _Zombies? Maybe._ The silence stretched ... five seconds, ten, fifteen, thirty...

"_About time, Bird Boy. We were starting to think you wouldn't show. We were honestly thinking about starting the party without you, but somehow, we just knew you'd swing by eventually. This is your beat, isn't it?_" The voice came from all of the creatures simultaneously, croaky as it was booming, its rasping reminding him of damaged vocal cords.

Dana and his father gasped, but he just narrowed his eyes. His mind was moving as fast as it ever had, trying to understand what he'd just plunged into. _Group mind? No. Eyes are blank, all of them. No _thought_ anywhere in there. No real awareness. No breathing either--lips barely moving when they talk, just parting. And they wanted me here? Trap. Probably connected to the comm. blackout._ A dark thought sparked in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. _"Just knew you'd swing by eventually." _Has_ to be coincidence. Just bravado._ The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. _Got to get Dad and Dana out of here. Fast._ "Trying to filet innocent people isn't the best way to get my attention," he ground out. "It puts me in a bad mood."

"_Exactly. You're no fun when you're happy, Boy Wonder._"

The lenses in his mask narrowed to slits. _The swarm ... is playing with me. How ... human._ He could work with that--he'd taken lessons in manipulation from the best. _Maybe I can bluff them. Get time to get Dad and Dana away._ "You like unhappy people? I have a friend with pointy ears on the way. Should be here any minute. When he finds out there's a mob of home invading cockroaches from hell in _his_ town, he'll be positively _broiling_." All he needed was to throw them off, get a psychological advantage, then--

"_Nice BS, Rob-man. If we didn't know better, we _might_ have been creeped out. But we both know Brucie is in a rather Apokaliptic situation, now don't we? And you're right, of course: attacking random innocents isn't the best way to find you._" The chorus' next words dripped with amusement. "_That's why we went after your parents ... Timothy._"

Cold sweat broke across his back, his mouth suddenly dry. His legs started to wobble; it took everything he had to keep them still, poised for action. _This is not happening. Oh my God, this is _not_ happening right now._ The staff nearly fell from his hand, but he managed to keep his face neutral, even willed most of the blood to stay in his cheeks. Whoever was behind all this, they _knew_. He felt panic nip at him. _Calm down. Calm down!_ He drew a deep, slow breath through his nose. _They know me. Know Bruce. Know he's gone. How the hell can they know he's gone?_ _Gotta think. Maybe ... maybe I can still throw them, make them doubt, buy enough time to escape and regroup--_

"_No._" Jack's whisper thundered in the silence of the living room, dripping with the confirmation Robin was using every ounce of control to suppress. "God damn it." Dana muffled a gasp with her hands. "It's happening. I knew this would happen one day..."

Robin couldn't help it; he flinched, eyes widening and mouth opening in shock. He'd blown it. There was no denying it now. Even if he could somehow play down his father's outburst, his own body language was clear as crystal. Anger surged through him. _Batman would have never ..._ "_Quiet. Now._" He actually heard his father's teeth slam together. Dana whimpered. Was she afraid of him, or just scared? _Of all the times to find your voice, Dad..._

The things laughed as one. Robin tightened his grip on the staff. _"For a second there, you looked like you were actually going to pull off a believable denial. Not that it would've mattered. We know your life better than you do. Sort of figures daddy dearest would blow it, though. Isn't his big mouth what got you two so screwed up to begin with?_"

His eyes widened, and he made no attempt to stop them. They knew about the separation. The struggling logic center of his brain knew it made sense--his and Bruce's identities were some of the best kept secrets in the world. That someone who discovered them managed to figure out where he _wasn't_ sleeping came as no surprise. But it raised the question: how long had they been watching him? What else did they know? _Who_ else? His stomach fell into his feet. _Greta. I brought her right into a trap. She's probably one of their targets and I brought her straight here. No!_ But he knew with a sick sort of certainty there was nothing he could do for her right now. She was on her own. He glared at the creatures. There was only one way to play this now. "That's enough," he said tightly. "Leave them out of this. You wanted to see _me_, didn't you?" He let Robin's voice fall away, and his next words boiled purely with Tim Drake's fury. "Here I am."

"_Glad you admitted it. Liars are annoying._"

Tim felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Could I have done anything else?"

He knew the things' answer even before he heard it, and the truth of it made him want to vomit. "_No._"

The voice was smug, dripping with confidence and fake sincerity, and it made Robin's flesh crawl even as it strengthened his resolve, focused his mind. "You know who I am. If you know anything about me at all, you know I'd die before I let any harm come to them. _Either_ of them." Dana whimpered, reached out as if to touch him and changed her mind, and his voice dropped to a growl he didn't have to force at all. "We're going to get out of here, and then I _will_ find you." Robin didn't make threats he didn't intend to act on just to intimidate, he wasn't nearly as good at them as Batman or Nightwing. He made promises, and always kept his word.

The voice was pleased. "_Why, we're counting on it. It would be terribly disappointing if you and your friends didn't make it past the first round. Wouldn't be very Titanic of you._" He almost thought the things were cackling.

_The Titans! _He gritted his teeth. Where else had these things shown up? The Manor? The Clocktower? Titans Tower? Or had they gone straight for Kansas, Gateway, and all the rest? _Too many unanswered questions._ He suddenly suspected the communications blackout wasn't simply a Gotham phenomenon. _This is taking too long. Greta's out in the open, and who knows what's going on with the others._ "So this is a game, is it? What do you want? Or are you just planning to use your undead cockroaches to blab at me all day? My patience is wearing thin. And don't deny you're using them like puppets." His voice flattened. "Liars are annoying."

There was a pause. "_Already figured it out, huh?_" Robin picked up a trace of disappointment. "_I was hoping it would take a little longer. It would've been entertaining to watch you try to deal with them while you thought they were alive. Moral ambiguity and all that._"

"You seem to like mind games," Robin grumbled. _And talking. You're trying to keep me occupied. Why?_

"What?" Jack mumbled, confusion in his voice. Fear and shock had apparently given way to a need to understand what was going on around him.

"_Your son's not a half bad detective, Drake. There's more to being Robin than busting heads ... but I'm sure you know that._" Robin tensed, but the things didn't move. "_Good call, Timothy. I knew your mind would keep this interesting. They're drones, yes. Made for one thing. Bet you can guess what._" A wheezing chuckle. "_I want to see what how far you've come. You've obviously beefed up--guess I've got to credit Daddy Drake again for giving you all that guilt and frustration to work off._"

It was out before he could stop himself, low and deadly. "Go to hell." _Nice, Tim. Keep it together. He _wants_ you too furious to think._ Dana whispered his name, almost pleading, definitely terrified. He wanted to turn around, but he couldn't break the standoff now. They were getting close to the endgame, he could feel it. He flexed his legs and arms barely, keeping them loose.

"_Looks like you've still got a bit to burn. Good. The time for talking is over. When turn my little friends here on, the game begins. Since I've got you by the stones and we both know it, I'll even do you the courtesy of having them ignore your jackass of a father and the would-be porn star for three whole minutes, just to even things up a bit. Do try to get them out."_ Hate filled the voice."_I want them to be watching when I carve the meat off your bones._"

Dana gagged, and he was pretty sure he heard a whispered "the hell you will" from his father. But that wasn't what really caught his interest. There was a genuine sincerity there. For some reason Robin couldn't begin to fathom, the voice really wanted his parents alive. It didn't make sense."_But after 180 seconds, all bets are off--the blond cuddletoy you have circling overhead included. You have excellent taste in women, by the way. You even managed to find someone shorter than you. Bravo._"

Robin's blood turned to ice. _He _does_ know Greta's here! Damn it!_ But she had to be fine. She had the Cycle to protect her, and she _promised_ to get out at the slightest sign of trouble. _Wait. I programmed the Cycle for the Cave. He knows about Bruce. The Cave's not safe. Oh, God._ Robin laid his thumb on his staff. An ounce of pressure and it would extend in less than a second. "Why should I trust you?"

The voice was gleeful. "_You shouldn't. You can't. You have no choice. You really think you can keep them all alive if my friends here decide to have them for lunch right off? Sure, _you'd_ probably walk out of here, but you're not that fast, and you know it._"

Robin _did_ know it. The message was clear. _Play by my rules and die later, after I've had my fun, or loose everything now._ Whoever was doing this, their ego was incredible, would have been laughable if not for their firm grasp on the situation. He knew he couldn't get them out alive if all forty monsters came at them at once. He'd get run down in an instant if he couldn't move freely, and then they would all die. He didn't dare throw a line through the hole in the ceiling and trying to pull them up--he could tell from looking at their wings that they were lightning quick in the air. They'd never make it. Trying to rush the blockade and make it for the door was suicidal. His father's living room had become an effective deathtrap. He found it vaguely, inappropriately ironic.

But maybe, if he had three minutes and didn't have to worry about them ... he looked over the room. Even if they left his parents alone, he couldn't take them all that fast hand-to-hand. _ They'll try to mob me, most likely._ He pictured them all ganging up on him, following him as one as he moved around the room. Then his eyes fell on the hole in the floor, and it clicked. Zombies and the like ran on simple orders. _Kill. Maim. Stand still and act like a surround sound speaker system so your master can gloat._ Their strength was in the numbers, so it didn't matter they lacked finesse. He was willing to be the same applied to these "drones." They had to be dumb as bricks. The corner of his mouth twitched up. He pressed the release and held his staff close across his chest, sending up a quick prayer that he was making the right decision. "You leave me no choice. Three minutes, then."

"Are you _insane!_" Jack boomed. "They'll kill us all. You can't trust them."

Tim dipped his head. His ears rung slightly. "I don't, not for an instant." _How could you think I would?_ "But he's right. I can't get you out in once piece if those things all go for you. I'm ... I'm not that good." Admitting it aloud stung, his brain once again suggesting that Batman would've found a way. But he, for better or worse, wasn't Bruce Wayne. "If he wanted you dead, you would already be dead. Just trust me. Please, if there's any part of you at all that still has any faith in me, _please_." There was only silence and heavy breathing behind him. He imagined the owner of the disembodied voice grinning silently, enjoying the show. _Keep smiling while you can._

"I-I-I trust you, Tim. Just ... just be careful." He'd never heard Dana sound so small, but her conviction was obvious.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Tim." His father said finally, his voice empty.

"_Lots of confidence there. I'm looking forward to watching this. I get to see a show, run you around for a while, then once I've had my fun, you die._"

"I won't." _I can't._

"_We'll see._" The words reeked with finality, and Robin knew the conversation was over

Robin nodded sharply. "We will." His free hand went to his mask, punching the little button that would put a clock on the very edge of his peripheral vision, then he went for his belt. _14:36:15. Three minutes starts now._ He drew a grapnel under his cape. "This is it, guys. Behind the couch, quick." Neither moved. "_Hurry!_" His father had just begun to wordlessly pull Dana back when he saw it: a jolt spread through the things like a wave, the sea of dead eyes locking on him. _Wake up time._ He raced forward as fast as his legs would take him, not daring to think about the movement. The drones were rushing at him, closing in from all sides, their wings and roars exploding in his ears. He waited until the swiping line of claws was almost in striking range, until the wind gusts almost knocked him off his feet, and reached straight up, firing the grapnel without looking, springing into the air. He felt the line go taught as it hooked on the side of the hole he'd made and smashed the retract button, soaring up and over the mass of creatures, twisting in midair, gazing down at them. The motion as they whirled around and up at him was as perfectly coordinated as an ocean wave. He felt momentarily elated--they were focused on him and nothing else. But it faded in the same instant. _They're coming to kill me._

* * *

Dana wanted to be sick. And run away. And cry. And hide behind Jack, then hit him for being an ass _now_ of all times. And keep Tim from fighting those horrible things that were going to tear him apart, and hide him from whoever it was that knew his name and was planning to "carve the meat off his bones." All at once. Everyone was wrong about paralyzing fear. It wasn't some single, unspeakable terror that literally froze muscles and jammed joints. It was a thousand simple, sharp pieces of dread that flooded the mind and left it too disoriented to remember how to work the limbs it controlled. Even as Jack pulled her behind the couch--The couch! What was a little leather, stuffing and wood going to do?--she felt like a passenger in her own body, watching helplessly as everything she cherished was ripped apart in front of her, as some maniac calmly, gleefully outlined how he was going to use them as little more than prizes in some sick game.

She'd managed to tell Tim she trusted him when he asked, still reeling from the shock of his agreement, and she'd meant it. In the back of her mind, she knew he had no other choice but to take the gamble--there was no way he could hold all of them off if he had to worry about defending someone besides himself. She thought of what he said, how they would already be dead if that's what this maniac wanted. But she didn't see how he could win even without them to worry about: there were _forty_ of those monsters. She trusted he would try his best, but she just couldn't see a way out.

But then he was moving, faster than anyone she'd ever seen, faster than she ever imagined he _could_ move. He charged the demons even as they rushed at him like Satan's private army, and she was sure he was going to get cut down before her eyes. But she couldn't look away, and then he simply reached up, jumped, and _flew._ Jack swore in amazement. She saw the line shoot out from the thing in his hand, it's hooked end digging into the gap in the ceiling, watched in awe as he sailed over them all and turned back to look, the calmest, most determined expression she had ever seen on his face. Then the things all turned as one like a pendulum, zooming towards him. Her mind formed a single thought. _ That bastard's really giving him three minutes._ She saw his feet flatten against the wall for an instant before he pushed off again, twirling his silver staff in the air as he fell towards the writhing mass. Suddenly, she realized she was wrong. Tim did have a plan. She didn't dare look away, tried not to even blink lest she miss something, and did the only thing she could to help. _Our Father, who art in Heaven..._

* * *

The wind rushed in Robin's ears as he pushed off the wall, staff singing as it sliced the air. A half dozen of the things were rushing straight at him, claws and teeth glittering in the light, the rest huddled near the ground, waiting. It made sense: if they were as sluggish and clumsy as he guessed, they wouldn't dare crowd him until they could trap and rip him apart; to do otherwise would give him too much of an opportunity to turn their size and bad reflexes against them. It didn't matter. He was going to do that anyway.

When he was close enough to get a truly overpowering whiff of the lead thing's decayed stink, he swung his staff into what should've been its left clavicle. It impacted hard, rattling the bones in his arms, but he held firm, using the momentum to push himself back into the air, coming to rest a few feet away, landing in a crouch. He had felt the thick, scaly skin crack like a coconut, saw it begin to ooze green slime, but could detect no physical reaction, not even a quiver. Nothing flickered in its dead eyes. _Like trying to hit Superman. Beating on them won't get me anywhere._ He somersaulted backwards to put some distance between them._ No reason for them to feel pain._ This would make things difficult. _At least they're not invulnerable. Soft spots._ He fell backwards and planted his booted feet in the thing flying at him, forcing it over his head and into the extended claws of the one trying to jump him from behind. There was a sound like plastic being punctured, then gushing. He whirled just in time to see the one that had tried to rush him ripped in half--straight down the middle--by the one planning to ventilate his back. His stomach flipped as what looked and smelled like rancid, liquid lime Jell-O spread across the floor. There was nothing else inside, no organs, not even bones. _Exoskeleton. They really _are_ like insects._

Slime dripping from its hands, it dove for him as more tried to surround him again. He didn't hesitate, snapping his staff up and pressing it like a lance through one of its eyeballs. He pushed with everything he had, and an instant later the weapon smashed through the back of its head in a shower of goop and shell. _Soft spot._ He pulled hard right, busting out an entire half of its surprisingly brittle skull. It went slack on its feet, but Robin wasn't done, swinging his staff back as hard as he could in the same movement. An instant later, the remains of the head were flying out the broken window, the body limp on the floor. _Two._ He tossed a handful of mini-grenades at the circle around him and pulled his cape over his face as they exploded, sending limbs and heads and wings in every direction. _Scratch five more, and no more grenades._ He darted through the opening in the line just in time to avoid having his spine split in two by the pair of claws behind him and his sides shredded by the two trying to cut him off, coming up in the middle of the doorway that led to the rest of the house. Already they were turning towards him. _Wait a minute._ _None of their feet are touching the ground._ The ones he thought were standing were just brushing the hardwood, their wings always moving. _Some animals can't balance when they loose their wings. I wonder--Whoa!_ He jerked his head out of the way as one of them spit at him. The door behind him sizzled. _Acidic drool. Nice._ _Clipping time._

He reached for his belt and grabbed a Batarang, the only one he had with diamond-tipped edges. Popping it open like a switchblade, blades on either side of his fist, and charged, using his staff to vault over the thing directly in front of him. He swiped the Batarang down and then back up before he hit the floor. The thing's wings fell to the ground, rivers of liquid entrails sliding down its back. It stumbled, trying to turn, balance ruined, and he allowed himself a smirk before kicking it in the back and impaling it on one of its comrades, moving to clip another pair of wings. _14:37:05. Can't beat 'em all, but I can bring most of 'em down._ He narrowed his eyes as he rolled out of the way of three low fliers, springing to his feet and leaping on one of their backs, delivering two quick cuts and moving to the second before it had time to react, then the third. By the time the three of them fell to the floor, he was already flipping through the air again, coming down on another one's shoulder. He dove for the ground and took its wings before vaulting off the hardwood with his staff, bouncing back up and perching on other target. He was moving as fast as he ever had before--any mistake would be his last. _Just gotta clear the air a little more._ He ducked under a wildly swinging fist, heard the crunch as it lodged in another drone's chest. _At least they're helping._

* * *

_14:38:05. Fifty-five seconds left._

Robin felt his legs quake as he hit the ground, but didn't have time to think about it, already falling into a roll. His hip ached dully where he'd nearly torqued his leg out of socket trying to keep it from getting sliced off, his cape was missing several patches of fabric where all but the titanium mesh was burned away, and sweat ran down his face--he'd been moving a full minute without stopping, slicing wings and breaking heads as best he could, twisting and turning and jumping out of dozens of blows, any one of which would've ended him. He grunted as he lunged forward, impaling another by the eye and then shifting back, spearing one behind him. He pulled down, breaking their faces out, using one's massive chest to launch himself into a flying roundhouse that finished off their heads. He readjusted his grip on the staff in midair--it was getting too slick with gunk. Fifteen total were incapacitated at his last count, another twelve lumbering sloppily around, tossing slow, imbalanced punches and kicks that were easy enough to avoid. The rest still zoomed dangerously through the air, trying to catch him with their claws like vultures from hell. But unless he was wrong, they were getting faster. He couldn't stand still anymore if he wanted to. Apparently his doom-bringer slowed them down before the fight started, and now they were entering the lightning round. _Just a few more, then I can--_

Robin came down on caved planks covered in ankle deep slime, and almost before he knew what was happening his foot was out from under him and he was yawing forward. Eight of the things were closing around him at lightning speed, and his balance was ruined. No way to leap out of the way this time. He knew his parents must have seen it too: Dana was screaming his name, his father yelling for him to move. He readjusted his grip on the Batarang even as he arched his back out of the way of the sweeping kick meant to shatter his back, straining his right leg and forcing his body to spin sloppily on his heel as he tried desperately to plant the left. Swearing, the Urban Legend loosed the Batarang--the only weapon he had on him that could quickly slice through the exoskeletons--sending it in a wide arc. It took four heads before impaling a wall, and he came to a stop facing the remaining semicircle of death.

Just in time to see a spiked fist heading for his stomach.

Time slowed down as Robin pivoted backwards and left, still slippery feet nearly going out from under him all over again. He started to twist his torso away from the blow, already knowing he wasn't going to make it. His cape rippled in his ears.

A thousand fiery needles sank into his gut and stars burst before his eyes. He was spinning like a top, tasting blood, and knew the cracking he heard wasn't just his armor. _That was just a brush. Would've knocked my stomach out. How strong _are_ these things?_ He managed to throw his weight to the right and crashed against the splintered entertainment center, jagged wood digging into his thigh. To his amazement, the staff was still with him. He grabbed it firmly with both hands, sloughing off the goop and ducking under a right cross, burying it in the deliverer's hollow head. He shifted his weight and sent the wingless thing up and into one of its flying compatriots, jumping over their tumbling, tangled bodies as they hit the ground. Out of the corner of his vision he saw a set of shining claws, too close. He stumbled backwards, bringing the staff up over his head and knowing it would do no good.

The reinforced titanium-steel alloy actually stopped the claws for an instant, but the awesome strength of the arm they were attached to was too much. As it broke into several pieces, Robin was already pulling his quivering arms away and flattening himself against the wall. They sliced into his armor, through the Kevlar-nomex, shredding the trauma plating over the right side of his chest. His father and Dana screamed like a pair of banshees. But he felt only a sharp stinging sensation, saw no blood bubbling up, and knew he'd pulled back just in time. He spread his legs as the lumbering beast finished the motion, claws digging into the floor. The Dark Squire plunged the ends of his ruined staff into its eye sockets and used them like handles, levering himself onto its head and then leaping for the top of the entertainment center. _14:38:23. Time to end this._ He flattened himself against the wall and knelt, digging his heels and palms into the cabinetry and pushing with everything his 140 pound frame could muster. "_Dad! _On top of Dana, now! Like she's on fire! Close your eyes!" His father blinked once, emotion swirling in his cerulean eyes, but he moved, wrapping himself around Dana and bracing them against the couch. _Good. Here we go._ He screamed and reached deeper, gritting his teeth and pushing until he was sure his muscles would tear. _Stupid ... solid ... oak ... piece ... of-- there!_

_ 14:38:36._

The fifteen foot high, ten foot wide piece of furniture fell forward, catching the last of the fliers--the only ones who would be able to outrun his little trap--and several grounded drones who were sure they had him backed into a corner. He sprang up and launched himself towards the jumpline dangling from the ceiling. _Only seconds left._ He caught it and used the momentum to aim for the couch, twisting his aching body in the air and reaching for the pair of C4-laced Batarangs he'd been saving for this moment. Flicking his wrists, he snapped them open and pressed the buttons in their centers. There was a pair of beeps. _Primed._

_14:38:40._

Robin swung his arms forward when his feet hit leather, Batarangs zinging up through the air. He was in motion the instant his hands were empty, throwing himself on top of his father and wrapping his cape over them. The ballistic fabric was damaged, but it was still solid enough to do the job. _I hope._

Dana opened her eyes when he fell on them. "Tim! Wha--"

"_Close your eyes!_" They snapped shut. He could smell the cologne his father had worn since before Tim could walk.

The explosion was tremendous, the ringing in his ears leaving him momentarily deaf as the shockwave and intense heat assaulted his back. He could feel Dana and his father clutching each other desperately beneath him. "_Hang on!_" He heard something falling, then more thunderous crashes, dust and dirt assaulting his nostrils. _Master bedroom furniture._ He tightened his grip on the cape. They were both coughing under him. Every few seconds he heard the occasional thump, debris still settling. But he couldn't hear a single pair of wings, nor any roaring, not even a massive footfall. _Silence._

_14:39:01._

"Are you two alright? Are you hurt?" He rolled off them and glanced around, pressing a hand to his aching ribs and shrugging his cape over himself, trying his best to conceal his injuries as he stood. The room was a disaster. What wasn't incinerated got smashed when the ceiling caved. He cycled to infrared, but couldn't find one moving drone. "Gotcha," he muttered.

His father groaned. "...Fine..." he coughed. "Dana?" Nothing. "_Dana?_" He pushed himself up, peering down at her pale face.

She sputtered, coughing hoarsely. "'I'm ... just ... fine. You're ... heavy, Jack." He rolled off her, but she didn't move, just laid there, drawing slow, shuddering breaths. "Ears hurt. What ... what happened?" His father started pulling her up.

Robin started to speak, but the elder Drake beat him to it. "Tim brought the ceiling down on top of us," he growled, "and most of the master bedroom." He glared at his son, shock and anger blazing in his eyes. "_That_ was your plan? Smash everything and hope you miss us? We could've been killed!" Dana eyed him disbelievingly.

Robin's jaw dropped. _It's going to be like that, then. Should've expected this._ "If I hadn't, you _would_ have been killed. Risking your lives was never a part of the plan. I knew you would be out of the blast radius." His tone left no room for debate.

"If it weren't for _you_ and that damned costume of yours," his father hissed, "none of this would've happened, so don't you dare tell me you would _never_ risk our lives."

The vigilante stumbled back as if physically struck. _This is your fault. We nearly died because of you._ His muscles sagged, and moisture stung his eyes. He brushed his hand against the shredded armor over his heart; it came away red. _Too close. All of it._ He spun on his feet, putting a hand on the couch for support and slamming his eyes shut, barely aware of the sound of Dana's hand slapping his father's face.

* * *

"_You_ _son of a bitch!_" Her hand was nearly numb, but she didn't care. She looked up at the man she fell in love with, who actually had the nerve to look shocked, as if seeing him for the first time. She understood the pride and perceived betrayal and everything else, but this should've gone beyond all that. Her mind had just wrapped itself around the fact that they were in fact saved, even managed to deal with the existence of undead zombies under the control of an evil maniac, only to be slammed with Jack acting as though Tim had sent the monsters himself. All the progress she thought he'd made had apparently been a grand illusion. She just couldn't understand. "What's _wrong_ with you? Tim just saved our lives, Jack! I don't give a damn why those things were here, only that they _were_. What do you _want_? Would you rather they carved us into little bits just so you wouldn't have to see your _horrible_, _disobedient_ son? Is that how far you're willing to take it? Because if it is, I think I want--"

"_Stop it_." Tim's--Robin's--voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was somehow louder than her best yell. He didn't sound angry, or offended. He didn't sound like anything. He turned around, and Dana gasped.

His cape had fallen open. The armor on his side was smashed. She remembered one of those things catching him there. _But it barely touched him_. Her eyes fell on the gashes over his chest. There was blood there, bright red against his suit. She hadn't seen it when he was on the other side of the room, had actually thought he'd somehow gotten far enough away to avoid those claws. "Tim," Jack's voice was very small, "you're--are you alright? Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

She thought he saw Tim's head tilt to the side. "Would it have changed anything?" He stepped forward, until they were inches apart. "You're right. They came here because of me. I admit it. Happy?" Dana could see Jack was just as stunned as she was; Tim sighed. "It's out. More than you know. I didn't come here expecting anything to change. There's a part of me that would love to throw a line through the ceiling and get out of your life, since it's so obvious that's what you want, but I can't do that. This is bigger than us, Dad. Bigger than Batman. I--" he pressed a finger to his ear, as if listening to something, and when he spoke again Dana knew it wasn't to his father. His voice was too gentle. "I set the explosion off. Had no choice. I'll explain everything in a minute. We're all fine. ... But you're okay? ... Good. Hold on just a second, and we'll get out of here, I promise. ... Watch yourself."

His hand fell from his ear, and Dana swore she could see the gentleness leave with it. _I wish you'd stop doing that._

"Who--?" But Tim was in no mood to let his father talk.

"It's not safe here. Never mind the structural damage ... I have no doubt whoever's doing this is just getting started. I need you to come with me. I'll explain everything once we're out of here."

"But, Tim, _what's going on?_ I don't understand," Dana said quickly. She was missing something. Tim obviously felt like he had an idea of what their would-be killer wanted, but how? She'd listened to the same conversation, and hadn't picked up anything but sadistic baiting. Tim didn't take his eyes off his father, and she knew she'd have to wait for her answers.

Jack looked uncertain for a moment, then his eyes hardened. "No. I'm calling the police. You leave if you want. You saved us, and I _am_ grateful. But I want no part of this."

Tim didn't flinch, and that scared her. "Too bad," his voice was scathing. "Neither do I, but we're neck deep in it. Someone knows who I _am_. Do you understand that? They don't intend to stop until they've raked me over the coals and hung me out to dry, and this whole thing proves they _will_ use you to get to me. I won't allow that. Not just because of this," he tapped the sigil over his heart, "but because I'm your son, and I love you, damn it. No one will touch you so long as I breathe. But I can't just sit here. That bastard gave me a clue--I think he's going after my friends, and I just can't sit back and do nothing. I said it before and I'll say it again, no matter what's between us, I will keep you safe, but I'm out of time here. Either you come with me willingly, or I'm knocking you out and _dragging_ you out of here. As for the police, this maniac's shut them down."

"Shut them down?" Dana breathed. "What does that mean?"

He frowned, and when he spoke his voice was grave. "Police, fire and emergency communications are jammed, completely. I can't even get in touch with Oracle or the Batcave, so he got those frequencies too. Don't ask me how."

Jack frowned, Dana could see in his eyes he was trying to take it all in. She was having trouble herself. _How can someone knock all that out at once? Tim's right. This is big. And where's Batman?_ Questions for later.

Then Jack spoke, voice full of honest surprise. "You'd really knock me out if I said no?"

Tim's--or Robin's; she didn't know anymore, and was starting to suspect there was really no difference--thin smile was sad, and it tore at her heart. "I don't see how our relationship could get much worse, and it's definitely better than the alternative. You trusted me to save you, even though I know you didn't want to. I'm asking you to put your faith in me just a little longer. When this is all over, if you never want to see me again, just say the word. But for now, we're stuck together. How you leave this house is your decision."

Jack folded his arms, staring intensely at his son. Dana could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, and she was once again shocked that the decision wasn't instantaneous. She narrowed her eyes. _You make him hit you, and consciousness won't be the only thing you lose._

"How do you plan on getting us out of here?" he finally asked. Dana released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Maybe they weren't completely hopeless, after all.

Tim grinned. "Quick." He tapped the black ball in his ear. "Sorry for keeping you waiting. Ready? ... Here we go." He put his thumb and index finger in his mouth, and whistled.

Dana blinked. "Wha--ah!"

At first she was sure the giant floating purple thing that sped through the second story ceiling--without breaking it, like some sort of ghost--was another demon coming to finish the job, but she saw Tim's smile widen out of the corner of her eye and knew he'd expected this. It came to a stop a few feet away from them, and she stood in stunned silence.

"... Whoa," Jack muttered.

It resembled a motorcycle most. It was eggplant purple, brilliantly polished. She saw the handlebars and controls that indicated the pilot's seat, wondering how it was empty, and counted six wheels. It spread out in the back, where she found a white couch, of all things. Several fearsome, chrome-looking guns were mounted on the sides. Then her eyes snapped down and to the front, to the second seat. The _occupied_ second seat.

The girl looked younger than Tim, maybe fifteen, with short, thick blond hair and crystal blue eyes. Dana smiled, in spite of herself. She was looking around, obviously stunned by the destruction around her. Her hands were wrapped around a pair of joysticks Dana suspected worked the cannons. _And she's so _tiny She saw Tim's face soften in a way she never had before, and suddenly realized who she was looking at. _Greta. This is Greta. She's beautiful._ She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and looking completely out of place, and Dana knew instinctively she wasn't supposed to be here. _No wonder Tim was in such a hurry. How'd she get dragged into this?_ Apparently, she stared too long, and found those crystal pools meeting her eyes.

"Y-Y-You must be Mr. And Mrs. Drake," the girl said nervously, turning to Tim, who was already moving for the vehicle. "What happened in here? I heard the explosions and I thought--Tim! You're bleeding! What happened to you?" Her eyes were big as saucers.

Tim was at her side then, his hands on her shoulders. His voice was gentle, without a trace of the ferocity he'd shown moments before, and Dana marveled at how fast it could change. "I'm okay. Just a few scratches. You should see the other guys."

She calmed almost instantly, even though she still didn't look very happy, and Dana's eyebrows shot into her hairline. _Wow._

Tim was speaking faster now, seriousness creeping into his tone. "We've got a big problem. We need to get out of here. I'll explain everything when we're in the air, I promise." He motioned Dana and his father forward. Jack took her hand and started moving, frowning deeply.

"Those things we saw in the window?" Greta asked.

Tim frowned. "Some kind of zombie drones. About forty of them. Being controlled by someone. We had a little chat before he had them attack me. Bringing down the house was the only way to get out." Dana saw horror fill the girl's eyes.

She nodded, looking dourer than Dana thought she should have been able to. "This is bad, isn't it?"

Tim shook his head. "That doesn't begin to describe it."

Her frown looked painful now. "I figured you were going to say that."

Tim turned towards his father. "Can you get in okay?"

Jack grunted, hanging on to the side and trying to swing his leg over. "A little help, if you don't mind."

Greta furrowed her eyebrows and sent Jack a sideways glance. Dana frowned. _Get used to it, sweetheart. I doubt he'll be getting any friendlier anytime soon._

Tim smiled at his girlfriend. "I'll be right back." He moved to the side of the vehicle, where Jack was trying to get his leg over and vaulted in, offering his father a hand. Once he had him up, Dana was pleased to see Jack reach for her instead of waiting for Tim to do it. The Urban Legend watched him lift her in, and smiled. "Take a seat. We're out of here." He dashed forward, collapsing in the pilot's seat. Dana thought he looked exhausted, but then his back straightened, and it was gone. _How does he _do_ that?_

Dana planted herself on the couch next to Jack. "Now what?"

Greta's voice floated from the front. "Buckle in, ma'am."

"How?" Before she could move, two thick black strips slid over her chest, another pair covering Jack. "Oh."

"Good boy," Robin muttered.

_He's talking ... to the flying moped. Right. I want to wake up now._

Jack was peering forward, trying to get a better look Greta, obviously wondering who she was and unwilling to ask.

_It's your own fault you don't know._ Dana frowned. She was just about out of things to say. _I think I'll just listen a while._ Any control she had over the situation was completely gone, left in the ruins of her house.


	7. Run Through the Jungle

Robin revved the throttle, and felt them starting to rise.

"Where are we going?" Greta asked, her calm voice clashing with the nervousness dancing in her eyes.

He tapped the communicator in his ear. "This is Robin. Is anybody there? Anybody?" The line stayed dead. _Damn._ He made his decision. _I've got to check it out first, see if I'm right._ A knot formed in his stomach. _If I am, God help us all._ "Kansas." _Alfred ... Babs ... everybody ... Take care of yourselves until I get back._ He angled them up and gunned it.

"Tim!" his father sounded panicked.

"Relax!" he called back, pressing the phase-shift button. Another second, and they passed through the roof, racing into the sky. "And from here on out, it's Robin."

"How did we just ... do what we did?" Dana called.

"Phase shifting," Robin supplied calmly, his hand finding the Boom Tube controls. "Puts us temporarily out of sync with normal matter and lets us pass right through. It's completely harmless."

"Of course," his father grumbled.

A voice burst into the Urban Legend's ear. _"Master Robin! Do you copy?"_ He grinned in spite of himself. Greta cheered. _"I have just returned to the Cave, and have found all but the encrypted channel jammed_, _and_ _the computer in lockdown mode. The manor's phones are dead, as is my own cellular. My attempt to contact Oracle has failed. Might an old man be so forward as to ask if you know what in _blazes_ is going on?"_

"Our phones are dead too, Alfred. Robin can explain, I think." Greta wrung her hands.

_"Miss Greta is with you?"_ Robin could all but hear the unspoken "is that wise?" But Alfred would never question him so directly.

_No. No, it's not._ "Yeah. I didn't have a choice," he let the words tumble out. He needed to get through this quickly. "The Super-Cycle showed up when we left the ice-cream shop and brought us to my parents--"

"_What_ does that mean?" his father interjected. "What do you mean this thing showed up? On its _own?_"

"_Quiet,_ Jack." Unless his ears were playing tricks on him, Dana had just thumped his father not-so-lovingly in the back of the head.

_This is going to be pleasant._ "I found about forty undead flying cockroaches trying to tear them to shreds. The person controlling them had a message for me."

_"... Oh my. And that message would be?"_

Alfred responded to the news with only the faintest hint of surprise, and Robin had to smile. Few things could make Alfred Pennyworth lose his cool.

_Here's one._ Robin took a deep breath. _This is it. _"Our secret's out, Alfred. This guy knew who I was. And knew Bruce was gone--I don't know how he swung that. Sounded like he'd done his homework on us. He plans to kill me after he jerks me around--he _wanted_ me to get my parents out so they could watch. Unless I'm mistaken he's targeting the rest of the Titans as well. I was on my way to check on the other members of the team when you called." _I just hope I'm not too late._

Greta whirled in her seat, pale as he'd ever seen her. "W-wh-what? Oh no..."

He heard his father's hushed voice. "Those nutjobs in San Francisco? What have you got to do with them?" Dana swore.

"He's their leader." Greta glared at him. His father looked for a moment like someone slapped in the face.

Alfred's response came a second later, his composure shot. _"Good Lord! How? This is a most dire development indeed."_ Robin knew what he was thinking: the Manor was unsafe, and probably the Clock Tower--if it was still standing. And Leslie--her security system was a set of barred windows and a baseball bat. It was all so utterly wrong. There was a pause, and when he spoke again the Englishman was back in control, only a slight edge in his speech._ "And you have no idea who is responsible?_"

"None. He's an egomaniac who likes to hear himself talk, but other than that, he didn't give me much to work with." Robin's voice turned to ice. "I'm wearing zombie innards right now--maybe analyzing them will give us a lead."

_"Let us hope. Is there anything you need? Miss Cassandra is napping above. I was about to page her when I noticed your active comm. signal."_

_At least she picked a good time to have her loft fumigated. One less person to track down._ "Get her suited up and filled in. We need to know what's happening with Ba--Oracle. And Huntress." _Don't know why I'm bothering to keep secrets now. Kind of pointless._ "She'll need to load up on the equipment we use to fight parademons--these things are tough. Tell her not to engage unless she absolutely has to. They don't feel pain or tire at all as far as I can tell, so fighting them into submission is impossible. They have enhanced strength and like to spit acid, but if she can damage their wings and force them to the ground she'll have a speed advantage. Give her a Boom Tube generator programmed for the cave in case she needs to evacuate Oracle. If the Manor's still undisturbed I'm betting it'll stay that way for a while." _I hope. We could use a break here._

Alfred digested all this, and there was suddenly steel in his voice. _"Understood. I shall also lock the Cave down. Even if this madman knows where it is, it will not fall so readily as he might expect. I suspect you will have need of its resources in the coming hours. I also suggest you proceed as though this channel is being monitored. It would not be altogether surprising given what you've told me. Anything else?"_

Robin was grinning now, even though he knew he shouldn't be. Greta gasped below him--she'd never heard Alfred's inner SAS agent come out. "Leslie. She's not safe. And something tells me we're going to need a doctor soon."

"Really soon," Greta cut in. "His chest is bleeding, Alfred, and one side of his costume is smashed in," Greta said angrily. Her voice grew small. "They hurt him."

Robin blinked. _Uh-oh. Busted._ "It's not that bad, I promise..."

_"I was already planning on securing Dr. Thompkins. What is the extent of your injuries, young sir?"_

_No one's going to like this._ "Minor lacerations on the chest, and, uh," his voice dropped to a whisper, for all the good it would do him, "I think three of my ribs are cracked, maybe four." _If not broken._

There was a moment of silence, then all his passengers burst in unison, "_What!_" Greta quickly added, "why didn't you say anything?"

Dana sounded sick. "He didn't want to worry us, I'm sure. This whole thing is a nightmare."

_Oy._ "It's nothing major. I'll be fine."

"What qualifies as major in that head of yours? Disembowelment?" his father roared. Robin wished he would be quiet.

_"There is no cause for alarm, Miss Greta. Both are minor injuries,"_ Alfred said soothingly. _"Especially for a young man of Master Robin's constitution. However, I would advise you both to make sure those are the only two injuries needing treatment when I see you."_

Greta nodded. "We most certainly will. I promise."

"I'll do my best, Alfred." He'd thought of going to the cave first to replenish his equipment, change suits, and drop off his parents, but the second Alfred saw him, he'd be getting his ribs taped and his chest bandaged. That would take ten minutes at least. He wanted Greta somewhere safe too, but knew she wouldn't leave his side. He could see it in her eyes. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, it would be a lot easier to handle the Cycle in a fight if she was manning the weapons. _This is taking too long._ "I've gotta jet, Alfred. Once we get a handle on things, we'll come to the Cave and figure out what to do next."

_"Of course. Godspeed, young sir. I have much to attend to."_ Alfred clicked off.

"Now what?" Dana asked again. He thought she sounded calmer.

Robin went back to entering coordinates in the Boom Tube system. "I've got to check on a friend. We'll probably be entering a fight in progress. Greta, are you sure you're up to handling the weapons? This is going to get nasty. I'm ... I wish you didn't have to be here. I'm sorry."

"Areyou_ insane?_" his father yelled, "you're going to take us into _another_ fight? We barely survived the last one!"

"I'm sure he has a reason, Jack," Dana said quietly, but the dread in her voice was impossible to miss.

Robin felt his composure slipping. "You think I _want_ to, Dad? I'm out of options! If I'm right, my friends could be dead by now. Besides, you wouldn't be any safer in the Cave. I don't plan on fighting them again. I'm not prepared for a repeat performance, if you want to know the truth. Greta?"

"I can do it," she said finally, the resolve in her voice taking him by surprise. "I'm ... I won't just watch helplessly while someone tries to kill you all." Her voice softened. "I chose to be here, Tim. No one forced me."

His father cut in. "Who _are_ you?"

Tim felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. _Smooth, Dad._ "I knew I was forgetting something," he said harshly. "This is Greta Hayes. We ... we're seeing each other."_ Try to be nice, Dad._ _I know it's hard._

"Oh." He could see his father blushing in his side mirror, but it didn't make him feel any better.

Dana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sorry, sweetie. My husband acts like a moron when he gets stressed out." She glared at the elder Drake.

"No ... problem. This situation isn't exactly normal," Greta ground out. "Let's go."

Robin groaned. _Shit. I should've just knocked him out. Would've probably enjoyed it._ "This may be unpleasant," he said flatly. "Take a few deep breaths and relax--these things usually make _Batman_ sick."

"Oh. Joy," Dana muttered. His father actually looked afraid.

"Keep your heads down." Robin pressed a button, and a white vortex opened ahead of them in the sky. _Hang on, Kon. We're coming._

* * *

They came out a five thousand feet up, the clean, warm Kansas air hitting Robin's lungs like a velvet sledgehammer. He immediately turned them towards the farm, descending, pressing the Cycle forward as fast as he dared. Greta let out a slow breath, gripping her controls. "Here we go, everybody. We're going to make this fast, I swear." _We don't have time to drag it out._

"Weapons ready, Robin." Greta's voice was steady and focused, and he was once again impressed at how quickly she had adapted to their situation. _Of course, the real test is yet to come._

"Get ready to fire. We'll be able to see the farm in a few seconds. We're ten miles away and closing fast." He looked back. "Heads between your legs, guys."

"I think I'm going to be sick," his father muttered. He took a few shuttering breaths, then jerked his head over the side and wretched. Dana was holding her hands over her mouth and gulping air, trying her best not to join him. "Er, as soon as you can."

_Well, at least now he has something in common with Bruce_, Robin thought as his father pulled his head back into the vehicle, looking paler than before. But he didn't have time to think about it. In fact, all thought in his head abruptly died, the white noise of total shock in its place as he slammed the brakes, stopping them in midair, what was left of the Kent Farm spread before him.

"Holy _shit_," his father muttered.

"No!" Greta screamed. "_Kon!_"

"Oh my ..." Dana trailed off. "Who lives here?"

_Kon-El._ "Superboy," Robin breathed. "Superboy lives here."

It was worse than he had imagined. The farmhouse was a smoldering ruin, and the barn wasn't much better off. Plumes of thick black smoke billowed from the remains, and the wind carried not only the odor of burnt animal flesh but something more toxic. _Gas. They hit the line under the house._ The fields were blazing too completely and uniformly for the fires to be anything but deliberate. And the cause was easy enough to see.

The drones swarmed erratically through the air like a cloud of locusts, easily triple the number of the last group. They cast grey shadow over the ground, like a plague come to consume everything. But the surrounding farms in the distance were untouched. Whoever was orchestrating this had very specific targets. _"Wouldn't be very Titanic of you." He's gone after us all..._

He couldn't see Jonathan or Martha Kent anywhere, but the way the things were bunched around the storm shelter, beating rather unsuccessfully on its door, gave him a pretty good idea of where they were. _If Kon had a time limit, it expired. At least he managed to get them to the shelter._ But he felt a little bit of relief; those doors and the rest of the storm shelter were made of three-foot thick tungsten steel. Add in the best security technology Krypton and Mars had to offer and--a dozen of the things near the entrance disintegrated as a wave of blue energy pulsed from the doors--no overgrown undead roaches would be getting in any time soon, no matter how many there were. But that left the obvious question. _Where's Kon ... oh, boy._

He suddenly realized the erratic movement he was seeing wasn't as random as he thought. They were trying to surround something. Something moving very fast and dealing out plenty of damage to anything stupid enough to get right in front of it. He made out a flash of tanned skin, blue jeans and a black shirt with Superman's symbol on it moving for the edge of the cloud, and almost grinned when he saw Connor Kent blast out into the open air in a flurry of torso shattering fists and exoskeleton cleaving heat vision.

Almost, before he slowed down enough for Robin to clearly see the bruises on his face, the blood running from the dozens of small gashes in his arms and legs and the hole torn in his shirt, the way he wobbled in the air, like he was about to fall. Robin felt his blood starting to boil as the swarm shifted once again towards his friend.

"_Shit_," his father muttered, "I thought he was supposed to be invulnerable."

"They're going to kill him," Dana whispered. "Oh my God, look at him. How do you do that to someone with Superman's powers?"

Robin scowled. _There are ways._ "No, they're not, not while we're here," he hissed, "Greta, I think it's time we announce ourselves."

She seemed to shake herself out of a trance, turning to look at him with wide, moist eyes. "Wha--what?"

He wanted to slap himself. Greta's grasp of idiom wasn't particularly strong. He wanted to jump down and wrap her in a comforting hug, too, but he knew he couldn't do that. "We need to draw those things' attention, buy Kon a little time to get himself together. Aim for their upper bodies as best you can, and start shooting. Ten second bursts, or you might overheat the plasma coils. Don't worry--they're not alive, I promise." He wasn't sure how good her aim was--Bart had always done the gunning, just because he was so frighteningly _good_ at it, and he remembered she did better in the simulator with bigger targets. Like houses. _They're so close together she can't miss._ Seconds passed, and she didn't fire. Her shoulders had started quaking, and the back of her neck was pale and clammy. He cursed himself for pushing her so hard so quickly. "You'll do fine. Whenever you're ready," he said soothingly. _Stupid, Robin. Stupid!_

"The sooner the better," Jack grumbled. "Before those things realize we're here and start trying to kill _us_," he finished harshly.

Robin felt himself getting angry. "_Shut up_, Dad. I don't care what you say to me, but--" he stopped suddenly, transfixed by the change happening beneath him. Greta's shoulders stopped shaking, a rosy color rushing back into her skin as she took one slow, deep breath. The next thing he knew, the cannon banks on either side of him were singing, sending a barrage of red-pink energy pulses at the swarming mass of evil in front of them. She tilted the cannons back and forth and up and down with quick movements of the joysticks. He couldn't imagine she had aimed very well under his father's goading--and felt like his jaw had fallen off an instant later as twenty moving drones exploded spectacularly, shots slamming into eyes and mouths and sternums and foreheads with near-perfect precision. They fell to the ground, limp. Robin couldn't believe what he was seeing. She was _never_ that good.

"Will _that _do, Mr. Drake?" she said finally, voice focused, low and throaty. Robin hadn't heard her sound like that since ... well, since her bad moods came with glowing red eyes.

_Wonderful, Dad. Great people skills you have._

His father actually whistled. "... Fuck Rambo ..."

"Yeah..." Dana's voice was airy with shock. "I mean, uh, _your language, Jack!_ Please." Superboy had apparently gotten a hold of himself, and finally noticed them. Kon stared at the Cycle with wide, grateful eyes and zoomed towards them, pausing to fire the occasional heat-ray as he went.

In the back of his mind, the Urban Legend realized the creatures had suddenly paused in mid-air, likely receiving updated orders, but all he managed was a breathless, "That ... was awesome. H-how? When?" _Focus, Robin. They'll be moving again soon. But still ... damn._

Her voice was lighter now, just a bit. "Remember that fighter jet simulator Bart got me for Christmas? It makes a good stress reliever, and the autotargetting mode was too easy." She looked back at him, tilting her head, staring at him with innocent, if not adrenaline-filled, eyes. "Shouldn't we be moving?"

Tim just blinked. _Who says videogames make you violent?_

The Cycle shook as Superboy landed behind him, collapsing on his hands and knees, shoulders heaving. Robin turned the Cycle away, quickly putting couple miles' distance between them and the farmhouse. "About time ... somebody ... showed up." He grabbed the back of Robin's chair and stood on shaky legs. "Couldn't ... call for help. Communicator ... jammed. Starting to get a little ... nervous." He took a deep breath, looking over Robin's shoulder and grinning, split lip and all. "Nice work, Dirty Harry. Keep it up."

She blinked at him, and Robin could see the question on her face. _Who?_ But she just nodded and said, "Thanks, Kon. Are you alright? What happened?"

"Kryptonite," Kon said quickly, pulling something long, green, and translucent from a hole in his arm, holding it like a hot coal. "They shoot Kryptonite darts out of their wrists. What the _hell_ shoots Kryptonite darts? I dodged most of them, but," he dropped it on the floor, swearing. Robin silently leaned over, grabbing it and putting it in a lead-lined compartment on his utility belt. "Damn it, that _hurts_. The ones that scratched me made it hard to keep the TTK up. Almost got my head knocked off a couple of times. Heat-vision was making me dizzy. I've managed to drop about thirty so far, but if you hadn't showed up –" he shook his head, and his voice was suddenly urgent. "Ma and Pa are in the cellar. Barely got them there in time; all these Boom Tubes went off and the next thing I knew the sky was full of _things_. Before they attacked, they did this whole group-speaking thing. Told me how I wasn't good enough to keep them alive, how my friends were going to get slaughtered while I watched helplessly. I'll admit they got under my skin. Dude, _they knew who I was_," he finished wildly, looking as though he'd just announced that Wonder Girl was marrying Hades.

"Not they," Robin said calmly, keeping an eye on the swarm, "_he._ They're drones." He looked at the wounds on his friend's body. _Built to order, apparently._ "He went after my parents, too. Got nasty."

Kon-El looked at them as if noticing them for the first time. Out of the corner of his eye, Robin saw that his friend's gaze was locked on his father. "I'll bet. Pleasure to meet you," he said, looking more at Dana and trying to sound friendly. "Glad to see you're both alright."

"Tim thinks he's targeting the Titans," Greta said quietly.

"If they're here, they went after the others, too," Robin added.

"_What?_" Superboy yelled, looking pale. "Oh, _hell_. Cassie! We've got to get to Cassie, and Bart and the others--"

Robin saw the things begin to quiver, and knew he was running out of time. "_We will_. But first we've got to clear these away. We can't get Jonathan and Martha out otherwise, and who knows what they'll do if left alone. Then we'll figure out what to do next."

Kon-El looked back at him, jaw set. "Any kind of specific plan?"

Robin's head bobbed. "We split up. Divide their forces."

"Let's do it," Kon said, cracking his knuckles.

"Ready," Greta hissed.

"So are they," Dana whispered, pointing forward. The things were speeding towards them now. She clamped her hands on Jack's arm.

"This is going to be unpleasant, isn't it?" his father asked darkly.

"Yep." He revved the engines. "_Go!_" He banked hard to the right as Superboy leapt into the air, heading in the opposite direction. Sure enough, the cloud split, the ones trying to break into the shelter joining the charge. Robin figured there were about fifty zooming in on the Cycle. "Greta ... _fire!_" He gunned the engine, blasting them forward. He could hear Superboy yelling taunts.

There was no hesitation this time--bolt after bolt flew from the cannons--but the creatures weren't flying in formation anymore. Plenty of shots connected, but it was obvious to Robin that it wasn't going to be over in just a few seconds. He wasn't helping matters any, flying in zigzag patterns along the edges of the mass. His parents had _finally_ put their heads between their legs, gripping each other's hands tightly.

"Sorry," Greta growled, one of her errant shots punishing the remains of the farmhouse.

"I don't think anyone will notice," Robin returned, pulling them into a near-vertical climb. "You're doing great." He checked his side mirror, saw that a dozen had been stupid enough to follow him, and spun the Cycle around in place, shifting into reverse so they were still going up. Greta took the hint; her fingers danced over the joysticks, another twelve carcasses hurtling to the ground. "Amazing, even."

Even though the stress never left her voice, he got the distinct impression she was beaming. "Thanks." She took another bunch out, then scattered a group heading for Kon when he wasn't looking. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Robin banked and heard a satisfying crunch as one of the creatures smashed into the bottom of the Cycle. "Sometimes, when we have to, we surprise ourselves."

* * *

It went on that way for almost five minutes, his terrified parents huddled in the back while he did his best to keep the drones away and Greta supplied with good shooting angles. She had adapted to their new style of attack well, and every one of her shots hit _something_. There were only about twenty still chasing them, and he couldn't resist thinking they worked well together as he jerked up again, using the Cycle's armor to block another volley of Kryptonite shards. The Cycle, of its own accord, had slid Plexiglas-like windshields he didn't know it had in front of their chairs, but he wasn't taking any chances. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kon slice five down the middle in rapid succession. Their arrival had apparently given him a second wind. "Only thirty to go!" he shouted.

The Teen of Steel smashed a pair of zombie heads together, hurling the bodies at a group trying to nail him with more shards. "'_Only thirty?'_ _You're insane, Rob!_"

"If you say so!" he shouted, lining Greta up to take out another half dozen, and watching in quiet awe as she did just that. He spun her around to face another group.

Then it happened.

Robin felt like he was watching in slow motion. Kon had just raised his intertwined fists high, about to dash the gelatin brains out of the thing in front of him when a Kryptonite shard found its mark, embedding itself in both palms, locking them together. Superboy screamed and yawed wildly in the air, the drones taking the opportunity to peg him with more darts – several in the arms, legs, and back – before Robin even had the Cycle turned around. The half-Kryptonian's screaming abruptly stopped as his eyes rolled into his skull. A blue glow danced across his muscular frame, and he was falling.

"Oh, God!" Greta yelled. "He's going to crash!"

"Not if I can help it!" Greta was already firing at the ones around him, trying to get them away as Robin plowed towards his friend. _Hang on, bro. We'll catch you..._ They were twenty yards away and closing fast on the half-alien's limp body when the status display on the dash exploded in a shower of sparks, a Kryptonite slug embedded deep in its works. _Shit!_ Robin jerked his head up, and blinked. _Oh, no._

He was so consumed with trying to get to Kon he hadn't noticed the dozen things coming up on top of them. Apparently, Greta was too busy incinerating the ones trying to eviscerate Kon to see them, either. He locked eyes with one just as they all raised their arms, and understood what they'd done. "Damn it!"

They were too close now. If Robin tried outrunning them to get to Kon, _he_ might make it--he was wearing armor, after all--but his passengers... Images of his parents and Greta torn apart by dozens of jagged shards of alien ore flashed through his mind until he felt bile well up deep in his throat. Worse, he knew Kon wasn't dead yet...he'd seen him survive worse. But if he turned the Cycle away, there was no way he'd be able to get to his friend in time, no matter how fast Greta vaporized the opposition. And without his telekinetic aura, Kon was as fragile as any other human.

Three lives, or one.

He knew what Batman would say about it--they had discussed this very situation more than once--but he didn't need training to know what the right decision was. What he had to do. The only thing he _could_ do.

He roared as he jerked hard on the Cycle's controls, reversing and pulling up as a barrage of projectiles bombarded the spot where his head was moments before. A tear slid down his cheek as he almost robotically lined Greta up for the kill. "I'm sorry, Kon." He looked towards the cellar, where Jonathan and Martha Kent were waiting for their adopted son to return. "I'm sorry."

Greta seemed to realize what was happening an instant later--her skin turned almost grey. "You...you bastards!" They disappeared in a shower of hot pink fury.

Robin was already angling them back towards Kon's unconscious form, but he knew it was hopeless. Superboy was only seventy-five yards from the ground when they had to break off. He would be nearly there by now. Greta was starting to sob. He followed her gaze and found his friend, barely twenty yards up, and just stared. The cacophony around him fell away and he heard his own voice, keeping time in his head. _Six ... five ... four..._

A sound like a blade cutting the air reached his ears, and his head jerked to the left in time to see the sea of fire that used to be a field part as though Moses himself had decided to intervene, a blur of red and orange plowing through the inferno. The blur started running in a circle below Kon, forming a funnel around his body, slowing him down. And then it stopped, a pair of strong, red-gloved hands cradling the injured half-Kryptonian gently over an orange-yellow tunic with a burnished orange lightning bolt across the chest. A yellow eye-mask with golden wings over the ears completed the ensemble. Robin grinned.

"Bart!" Greta called, almost laughing with relief. "Thank God!"

"Get those shards out of him!" Robin thundered, speeding towards them. "Hurry!"

"On it!" A drone rushed through his after image as the fastest human on the planet raced away from the burning remains of the farmhouse. A second later, he appeared a few dozen feet away, leaning Kon against a tree. The half-Kryptonian groaned, but it didn't look like he was ready to move yet. Kid Flash stood with his back to his friend, muscled arms crossed.

As far as Robin could tell, all the shards in Superboy's body were gone. _Nice job. But where--?_ The speedster's right arm disappeared in a blur, the heads of the drones chasing the Super-Cycle exploding in showers of goo. _Oh._

"Chew on that!" Kid Flash yelled, pumping his fist.

Robin touched the cycle down next to the two of them. _Ten of those things to go, and we're done here._ "Hop on. _Now_."

Kid Flash was behind him before his mouth closed, one hand clamped down on the back of his chair, the other around Superboy's waist. The still-dazed Teen of Tomorrow had his arm draped over Bart's neck, shaking his head and groaning. Robin took to the sky again, doing his best to put some distance between them and their assailants. "Ugh. Thanks for the save, Bigfoot." He coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. "... Nerts. I think I need to sit down."

Robin heard his parents shifting behind him, either too confused or nervous to keep their heads between their legs, so he was ready for Dana's sharp intake of breath and his father's latest I-can-make-sailors-blush-with-the-greatest-of-ease epithet.

"Kid Flash, help him to the back. Greta, when I turn us around, finish these things off. We need to go."

He didn't miss the restrained anger in her voice. She never had liked seeing her friends beaten up. "No problem."

"She's working the blast--?" the speedster started; falling silent when Robin spun the cycle around and Greta methodically atomized the last drones. "Oh." He stared forward for a moment, watching the smoke clear, thinking hard. "Nice." Robin blinked, and he was easing Kon into a seat.

"I don't see what the big deal is," she said, Robin hearing her blush more than seeing it.

Robin relaxed in his chair, realizing for the first time just how much his body ached. "Great job, everybody." He spun his chair around and looked at Kon, sprawled out next to a terrified looking Dana. On her other side, Jack Drake was silent, looking a lot like he had when Robin dropped into his living room. Briefly, the Urban Legend wondered why all this was so hard for him to process. Dana knew barely more than his father about his life outside Gotham, but she was being almost frighteningly _understanding_ about the whole thing. _Could the difference really just be that one trusts me and the other doesn't? It can't be that simple...can it?_ He narrowed his eyes; there wasn't time to worry about that right now. "Kon, are you alright?"

"All right?" Dana cut in disbelievingly. "Look at all that blood! We've got to get him to a hospital!"

"What, and be reasonable?" Jack scoffed. "He'll probably say that's too dangerous. Well?"

Robin was about to open his mouth to reply, but Kon beat him to it. "And he'd be right. They're out for blood. The last thing I want to do is draw a bunch of those things to a public hospital. But I'm sure someone of your intellect already thought about that, _sir_." Jack scowled, his face reddening. Kon looked at Dana, flashing her a winning grin. "Don't worry about me, Mrs. Drake. Now that those shards are out, I should be fine--my TTK'll hold me together until I can get bandaged up. I feel better already. Now, can we speed this up? I need to get to Cassie."

"You know, Kon, she probably doesn't have any idea what TTK is," Greta mumbled. Superboy blushed.

"I ... uh ... no." Dana trailed off, looking more confused than ever.

"Mrs. Drake?" Bart looked at her, and grinned. "Wow. I, uh, I mean, nice to meet you." Robin watched his expression falter as he looked at his father. "And you must be Tim's dad." And then, spat out at super speed, "You'reagreatbigass." He blinked, amber eyes innocent as ever. "Sorry. Had something in my throat."

"That's ... alright ..." Dana mumbled. She didn't seem capable of saying much else.

Robin's eyes widened behind his mask. His parents might not have been able to understand speed-speak yet, but he caught every word, and from the way she was snickering, so did Greta. Kon smirked, and he felt his temper flaring. "Alright," he said finally, "not that I don't appreciate the help, but I'm a little confused. How did you know to come here? The quick version, if you don't mind. We need to get to the others, but I want to know what you know first."

Kid Flash paled. "Damn! IsawthefireandKonandcompletelyforgot--"

"Calm down!" Greta ordered. "You're here now. What happened? How did you know these things were after Superboy's ... grandparents?"

Tim saw the worry lines etch themselves into her face, and realized he was probably mirroring her expression. Bart hadn't acted this _erratic_ since he'd called himself Impulse. _Not good. Something must've really shaken him up._

"Well," Kid Flash began speaking just slow enough that the words didn't blend together, "Joan and Linda and I had just gotten back from church when Aunt Iris just _shows up_. She said she'd seen some strange things on the news ... things that she didn't remember. Something about monsters attacking S.T.A.R. Labs places all over the country. She was pretty worried, but before we could talk about it, all these Boom Tubes opened up and those bug things started pouring out. I changed into my suit and told Iris I'd hold them off while she got Linda and Joan somewhere safe. Next thing I know she's pulling out a time dilation device and there's this big flash and I'm all alone with like, a Cockroach Army of Darkness. I think she went to one of her safehouses. Then--"

"Time dilation device?" Dana.

"S.T.A.R. Labs? Isn't that the place that takes care of Superman?" His father.

"Damn it! Where _didn't_ they hit? We've got to get moving, now!" Kon-El.

Robin ignored them. _Leave it to Iris to make a flashy exit. Ugh. Bad pun, Boy Wonder. At least she can take care of herself. And we won't help anyone flying blindly into another skirmish._ Truth be told, watching Superboy nearly die had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. He needed a minute before he went into another battle. "Then they started talking, right? Taunts and such? Collective speech?"

"Yeah! They called me Impulse and said stuff like how I had improved, but still wasn't as impressive as Wally, and that I wouldn't be given the chance to be. They liked my old suit better, too--'At least Impulse had sort of a ring to it.' I could tell they didn't think I was very smart, either, but I got really worried when they said I'd better hurry up, or I wouldn't be able to watch my friends get torn apart. I tried calling you, but all the comm. lines are down."

"I know," Robin cut in. "Police, fire, and rescue are out in Gotham, too. Someone knows who we are, and they've put a lot of thought into taking us down. Go on. Quickly."

The younger boy frowned. "I got angry. The fight went well until they started shooting this goo at me ... whatever it is, it's frictionless--I can't run on it. It made things more difficult, otherwise I would have been here _minutes_ ago." His frown deepened. "You ... you aren't going to like the rest. I knew I needed help, so I went to San Francisco. But ... TitansTower'sbeencompletelydestroyed." Robin's blood went cold.

"_What!_" _No! I--I was supposed to be there today..._

"_Shit!_" Kon yelled. "Oh, God! Who was on call today?"

"Garfield," Greta whispered flatly. "Garfield and Victor. Robin was supposed to be there but he got off so we could go ... go out. Nothing's left? Nothing at all?""

"Wait a minute." Tim heard his father say, and this time he couldn't detect a trace of scorn, only tiredness. "Who ... who's died?"

The speedster's amber eyes widened. "Oh! No one died! When I got there Raven was using her powers to sift through the rubble. Whatever did the damage was long gone. She said she missed the fight, but could sense BB and Cy somewhere underneath the wreckage. They're alive. She promised she would find them and told--no, _ordered_ me to get help. Man, I--she looked angry, but ... shewascrying. I've never seen her cry. So I went to the Batcave, and Alfred and this older lady told me you were here. So here I am. What do we do now? Please tell me you know more than I do, Rob."

"Yeah, you've got a plan, right Rob?" Superboy muttered. "We could really use a good one."

"Wait a minute," Jack cut in sharply. "Surely there's someone else. What about Superman, or the Justice League? Why don't _they_ handle this?"

"Because," Superboy cut in, "they can't."

"We're it," Kid Flash supplied dourly.

"All the others are dealing with Darkseid," Greta added, spitting the Dark God's name. "They left the Titans in charge."

"Well," Jack grumbled, "that's just _great._ And who the hell is Darkseid?"

"We're not too happy about it either," Kon snapped. "And trust me, you _don't_ want to know."

"I'm sure he doesn't," Greta muttered, glaring at the older Drake.

"Can ... can you handle something like this without them?" Dana asked, voice small.

"Yeah. We've handled worse ... whatever this is, we'll take care of it," Superboy said flatly. He didn't sound entirely convinced, but Robin wasn't going to mention it.

Robin was largely trying to ignore the exchange--his father was still being a supreme ass and aggravating the hell out of Greta, and he really didn't have time to run a question and answer session right now--trying instead to pick through Bart's story, looking for any new information. Then it hit him, and his stomach did a rather unpleasant backflip. "_Wait a minute_. The voice ... it acted like it knew you when you were Impulse?"

Kid Flash nodded. "Yeah ... in fact, it seemed to do nothing _but_ rant about Impulse. I thought it was weird, but I didn't have time to worry about it when those things were trying to kill me."

Kon-El jerked his head up. "Hold on. All it called me was 'Kid.' Said my 'Fearless Leader' couldn't help me now. I thought it was just ridiculing my age and trying to annoy me, but ... you don't think ..." He was looking pale now, and Robin doubted very much it had anything to do with his injuries.

"And it talked about how much I'd improved," the Boy Wonder growled. "And I _have_ come a long way since Young Justice split up ... we all have. I ... _Shit!_" His mind crashed with all the force of a bullet train hitting a cement wall. _I was wrong._

"What?" Dana cried, almost panicked. "What's the matter now?"

"I," Robin began quietly, "was wrong. Those nicknames ... they haven't been used since Young Justice was in operation. Whoever's doing this was one of our enemies then, which means the Titans and their families aren't the only ones in danger. Damn it!"

"Young Justice?" His father again.

Robin didn't have time for this. "Before the Titans were formed, a lot of us were part of a team called Young Justice, under the auspices of the JLA. He's targeting the members of _Young Justice_, for whatever reason. The overlap with the Titans is purely coincidence. I'm betting he took out the Tower just to be thorough--it's one of our best resources, and the older Titans are too capable--and important to us--to ignore." He made face. "_Was_ one of our best resources. I can't believe it's gone."

"Jack," Dana whispered, "be quiet for a bit. Let them think. I'm sure they'll clear everything up later." She fidgeted, obviously barely able to follow her own advice.

_Okay Robin, think fast. Get it together. Now what?_ Everyone, even his parents, were staring at him, waiting for him to come up with a plan. _You've got to deliver, Boy Wonder. _This_ is what you were trained for._ He remembered Bruce's voice, telling him his intellect was his best weapon, that there was no such thing as a no-win situation if he could just _think through_ _it_. His mind began clicking the pieces together...

When he spoke again, he was almost surprised at the confidence that had finally made its way into his voice. "This changes very little. Kon, do you have access to the Fortress of Solitude?"

Superboy blinked. "Sure. Yeah."

"It's probably no more of a secret than the Cave at this point, but if we're going to make a stand somewhere, it's the better option. Its weapon systems could hold off the DEO, APES, and the marines for a month without a problem, and the facilities are superior. It's the perfect place to put our families until we get a handle on things. Now, where's Cassie? You know, right?" _God, I hope you're still in one piece, Wonder Girl._

"Yeah! She's with her mother. She was doing work at the museum today--it's closed for renovations--and Cass tagged along. Bonding thing."

_She'll be able to protect Helen. She'll have to a little bit longer._ "Good. Anyone know where Cissie and Empress are?"

The Lad of Lightning grinned. "We're in luck, Fearless Leader. Bonnie and Ishido went on a picnic today. Cissie told me she'd be tagging along and had talked Anita into keeping her company. I know what park they went to."

Robin smiled thinly "Good man. Reddy, Kathy, Traya and Snapper?" No one responded. "Damn. We'll have to track them down. Ray's off planet with the JSA. Speedy's with Connor Hawke in Star City ... if they're only targeting Young Justice members, she should be safe for now. If Raven says Cy and BB are alive, then I believe her. We'll leave it up to her to find them. So, that's every--" he stopped, suddenly remembering Young Justice's youngest charter member and feeling like a moron.

He locked eyes with Greta just as her eyes went wide as her skin turned ashen. "Mommy! Oh God, Tim! How could I have forgotten? What if--she can't protect herself--she wouldn't even understand what was happening if--we've got to do something! They'll kill her!"

"B-but," Dana stuttered, face the picture of confusion, "Tim said you weren't a vigilante..."

"I'm not," Greta whispered tremulously, "not anymore. A monster stole my powers from me when I refused to ... to ..." She fell silent. "I'm not now, but I used to be."

Robin had never--never--seen her look so utterly terrified. He recognized the fear in her eyes. It was the same horror he'd felt when he realized a horde of monsters was attacking his parents. He felt a sudden, terrible pain in his chest, and knew he had to do _something_ to make that look go away. He mustered his most reassuring voice. "We'll keep her safe. I swear it." He thought for a moment. They were underhanded as it was, unless ... "Kid Flash. We need a scout. Now."

The speedster's amber eyes bugged. "_What!_ Robin, you know I don't--"

Robin continued, unperturbed. "I need Kon to go to the Fortress, to get everything ready." Superboy started, but Robin pressed on. "The computers there won't listen to anybody else but Supergirl and Steel, and we don't have time to track them down right now. I know you're worried about Cassie, Kon, but we _need_ the Fortress ready to receive, and you're the only one that can get that done. Kid Flash, you know where Cissie is, so you're the best choice to get her. We've put off getting to Wonder Girl too long, so I'm taking the Cycle there. And that's all of us. Greta can't go to her mother on her own. Do you understand, Kid Flash? I don't know what else to do."

"I--" Kid Flash looked uncertain. "I haven't, not since Bedlam caught me and forced me--I'm not sure I'm ready ..."

_It's been years, Bart. When are you _going_ to be ready?_ Robin thought, almost angrily. But he didn't say it. He couldn't imagine what the torture Bedlam had put his friend through must have felt like. He had to come up with a way to coax him into action, and fast. But then Greta was speaking.

"_Please._" She looked imploringly at the fastest human on the planet. "We've talked about this ... you told me how it makes you feel, so I understand how hard this is for you. I wouldn't even let Tim ask, but," her voice lowered, and she looked at the floor, eyes hiding her bangs, "I can't lose her, and I--I can't protect her myself. Not anymore. I can't..." Her shoulders started to shake.

All the color drained out of the speedster's face. Even Robin was dumbstruck. He'd never seen her lament the loss of her powers, not once. It had never occurred to him that she might actually regret losing them. "Greta," Bart began slowly, looking away, "I'msosorry."

Robin looked at him. _Is he saying no? Unbelievable._

"Youshouldn'thavehadtoaskmetwice." He jerked his head toward Robin so fast it left an afterimage, jaw set. "What do you need?"

The Urban Legend blinked, and thanked God Bart Allen's mind worked as fast as his feet. "I don't want to just yank her out of the hospital she's in if I can help it. She's too ill. We need time to get copies of her medical records so we know how to take care of her, too. Normally I'd have Oracle whip up some false transfer documents and put them in the hospital mainframe and download her medical records, but since that's not an option, I'll have to handle it myself, and that'll take a bit of time. In the meantime, we _cannot_ leave Mrs. Hayes unprotected. When I give the word, send a scout to her institution to keep an eye on her. _He must not be seen_, especially by Mrs. Hayes We want to keep her in the dark about this until we're ready to move her, if we can. But, at the slightest sign of trouble, I want her evacuated to the Fortress, _immediately_." _Unless they've already attacked her ... then you'll be bringing back a cadaver._ He repressed a shudder. _No. That won't happen. It can't._ "He'll need to be gentle if it comes to that. Very gentle. Understand?" The speedster nodded, and Robin landed the Cycle. "Do it. Now."

Kid Flash furrowed his eyebrows, and the next thing Robin knew, an energy clone was standing next to him. It nodded silently at Bart and disappeared an instant later, too fast to track. "Done."

_Thank goodness._ "Okay." He reached into the compartment under his seat and pulled out a small, black Boom Tube generator that looked a whole lot like a car alarm remote, tossing it to the other boy. _And they thought I was paranoid for stashing so many spares everywhere._ "Second preset will take you to the Fortress. Go. Find the others."

But he didn't move. "Ishido's there. What if they're attacking him?" Doubt shined in his amber eyes.

Robin paused. He didn't want that slimeball anywhere near his family, or Greta--or any of the others. But he couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way of his duty. "We can't pick and chose who we protect. It's as simple as that. Oh, and put out these fires before you leave." He narrowed his eyes. "_Run._"

An orange-yellow cyclone whirled through the flaming crops, reducing the angry flames to nothing. And then he was gone, too fast to see, but Robin swore he heard a faint "_I'm coming, Cissie!_" echo through the fields.

"My God," Jack muttered. "Incredible."

"How does he do that?" Dana asked the wind. "How can anyone move that fast?"

"He's a Flash," Greta said simply.

"You too, Kon; get moving. Get yourself patched up while you're at it. We'll find Wonder Girl. Now take my parents, get to Jonathan and Martha, and _go_."

Superboy's face flashed with nervousness, no doubt having everything to do with his incommunicado girlfriend, then settled into a determined expression. "Right." He stood. "Hope you know what you're doing, Rob."

"That makes two of us," the Urban Legend said quietly. "See you in a few minutes."

"Wait just a damn minute!" his father yelled. "You're leaving us with _him_? We don't even know him, and a few minutes ago he could barely stand." Superboy looked stunned, and just stared at the older man.

"He's just fine," Greta said impatiently. "He's much more resilient than Tim." She almost sounded jealous. "Now, unless you _want_ to get in another fight, you should do as he says." She paused, eyes burning. "It would be a lot safer for your wife. Don't you realize that?" She sounded genuinely curious to Robin's ears.

"She's right, Jack," Dana said soothingly. "We're just in the way here. If Tim trusts him, so do I. Take care of yourselves. Both of you."

Jack almost snarled at the caped vigilante. "You ... be careful."

Robin's eyebrows shot up. _That was ... unexpected._ The delivery could have been better, though. And it was now crystal clear Greta and his father had a _huge_ problem with each other, for reasons beyond his grasp. They hadn't been around each other more than twenty minutes. _Figures. You can stand my Dad, or not._ "I always am. Take care of them, Kon. I'm counting on you."

"I will." Robin watched as Superboy put his arms around his parents' waists, and hoped they would be able to keep it together just a bit longer. "Find Cassie, Tim. And both of you, watch your tails." Robin nodded once, and Superboy shot off for the shelter, Dana's head buried in his shoulder. Was she crying? Exhausted? Afraid of heights? He didn't know. His father was staring at him, wearing an almost blank expression.

He turned back to Greta. _You just made a promise, Robin. Get it done._ He started keying coordinates for downtown Gateway into the Boom Tube panel. "I'm sorry I didn't think about your mother earlier. But we've done all we can for now. Bart's scout will take care of her if it comes to that. If not, once we're all at the Fortress, I'll go get her myself." He wanted to bring up some of the things she'd said earlier, about his father, about not being a metahuman anymore, but now was not the time.

Her eyes were red and puffy, and she made no attempt to hide it. "I ... I was so relieved when you came up with a plan, but ... they've already attacked you, and Kon, and Bart, and probably Cassie and Cissie and Anita. I can't help thinking ... what if M-m-mommy is ... is dead already?" She sobbed.

He felt his own eyes water. "Oh, Greta," he leaned over the stock and put his hands on her shoulders, cursing the awkwardness of the Cycle's design. "You ... you can't do that to yourself. I'm not going to promise you anything--that would be wrong of me--but that we'll do everything we can for her. But you've got to have faith that she's okay. She needs you to be strong. Can you do that for her? For me?" _Keep it together, angel. We've got to go._

She nodded finally, wiping her eyes. "I ... I can. I almost lost it, didn't I? I ... I think I will, Tim, before this is over. But for now," she took one more deep, shuddering breath, and looked almost calm, "I'm still with you. Let's find Cassie." Robin stared at her. She would probably never know how much he respected her for that. He backed up his bravado with years of training and armor and gadgets and Robin's mystique, but she ... she just had her willpower and courage, and nothing else. It floored him whenever he stopped to think about it.

Robin stared at her another moment, before depressing the stud on his earpiece. "Alfred. Use the teleporter in the Cave to bring yourself and Leslie to the Fortress of Solitude. I need a full-armor suit, with everything, and two EMT costume kits. Oh, and a dozen extra earpieces. I'm going to have everyone use Batman's encrypted channel to communicate until we find out what's going on with the main frequencies." _He can gripe me out later._ _If I'm still here._

_"Master Robin? You sound alarmed. What has happened?"_

Greta started to say something, but Robin shook his head. "No time. Superboy will be on site. You'll be able to get a full update from him. I've gotta go, Alfred." He clicked off before the Englishman had time to respond, then pressed a button and launched them into another Boom Tube.

* * *

_Museums aren't supposed to have smokestacks._

That was Robin's first thought when he saw Helen Sandsmark's place of employment, about the same time Greta screamed. Most of the roof was caved or cracked, and the whole building looked tilted, like someone had hit the foundation. _Which is probably exactly what they did._ There was no sign of the police, or emergency personnel. _No surprise there. Probably too busy getting the time and date in French._ He saw security guards ushering panicked employees and volunteers away from the building, but found no sign of Wonder Girl or her mother

"W-what now?" Greta asked. "This is horrible." There was no more real shock in her voice, but how could there be? This was the third round, after all.

"No kidding." He heard a faint bang, and saw part of the roof fall in on itself. "There's still some kind of battle going on inside. That has to be Wonder Girl. She's still alive." _I knew you could keep yourself in one piece, Cassie._ "We're going in."

She nodded slowly. "R-right. Okay."

He frowned lightly. "Just stay with me a few more minutes, beautiful. Then we'll be out of here. Duck down for a second. I don't want them seeing your face if we can help it." He dove, ignoring the shouts of the civilians--most of whom never looked up, apparently, and were completely taken by surprise when a flying purple motorcycle fell from the sky, and phased right through the thick wall above the museum's double doors.

Greta raised her head and sucked in a breath. "Oh my--"

"_God_." Robin felt his stomach lurch again. They were supposed to be in a nice, giant lobby with marble flooring and walls painted with murals depicting famous mythological scenes, all lit up by a pair of wide skylights. But now ... now it looked like someone had set off a bomb and went after whatever was left with Steel's hammer. Soot covered all. Sparking wires and pieces of frame and insulation hung from the walls and ceiling, and every once in a while the whole thing creaked and groaned like it was going to come crashing down. There were even small fires burning. _This must be what it would look like if Volcana and Firefly had a tryst._ He shook his head; now was _not_ the time for such thoughts. But his concentration was starting to crack, and he knew exactly why. The emotional, irrational part of him was busy stewing over the implications of what was going on, and getting indignant about his refusal to display the total and utter panic he felt just below the surface. "Let's go. Sitting here staring won't do any good."

She said nothing, exhaustion and fear and concentration no doubt taxing her mind to the limit. He gunned the throttle again and they zoomed towards the banging, smashing noises. Robin felt vaguely like an animal following a trail of bait into a trap, but shrugged it off. _I'm a vigilante. A _Gotham_ vigilante. Jumping into other people's death traps and snares and evil plots du jour is what I do._ Then there was that other, quieter, bitterer voice, just behind where his soft-spot used to be. _Yeah, sure, Rob-man. It's what _you_ do. Not _her. _She's just stuck here 'cause _you_ got sloppy. Don't forget it._ He looked at the blonde girl beneath him, holding the cannon controls in a white knuckled grip. _Fat chance._

His frown deepened as he sped them up. _Can't be much longer._ He waved a hand in front of his face to dispel some of the dust hanging in the air. The walls in the hallway were dented and cracked at odd intervals, like someone with super strength had smashed something against them. He pretended not to notice the green goop clumped up on the floor. Or the blood, thick, red, and pungent when it hit his nostrils. Fresh. _Breadcrumbs._ The logical part of him was already working the problem. _Battle started in the lobby when some sort of explosion went off ... Cassie drove them this way, grappling with them as she went, most likely. This hall's too narrow for her to use her lasso to full effect._ The inevitable conclusion._ She's wounded. _There were small footprints in the muck, random bits of Kryptonite shards here and there. _Helen. She ran ahead of her daughter, Wonder Girl acting as a shield, using her bracelets to deflect the projectiles. Wonder Girl would have tried for one of the exhibit rooms ... plenty of room to fight, and big enough to put some distance between those things and her mother._ They were approaching an unhinged set of double doors that led to a Norse exhibit. And it was almost fitting, the way the sound of hammer blows coming from the other side reminded him of war drums. He tightened his grip on the handlebars. "Blow the doors." Without a sound, Greta's thumbs smashed into the triggers, incinerating the beaten, battered wood. Robin pushed them through before the smoke cleared.

The statues, tools, weapons, and everything else he'd seen when he and Greta had attended the exhibit's opening were so much debris now, either smashed outright or hopelessly shattered under the weight of collapsed pieces of the ceiling, a smaller version of the destroyed lobby, without the benefit of the skylights. He remembered suddenly the awestruck look in her eyes that evening, her genuine interest in being immersed in _real_ historical artifacts. And for the barest split second he was angry that this place, that had held such magic for her, had been completely and utterly destroyed.

And then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. There were at least twenty of the creatures still flying around the room, but from all the remains and goo on the floor, he could tell there had at one point been _dozens_ more. A faint whimpering reached his ears, and at first he thought it was Cassie, but it wasn't right. He had heard her whimper in pain before, when Granny Goodness tortured them all. This was different. It was ... _older._

_Helen._ He remembered the blood. _Something's happened to Helen. Damn!_ But where was she? Where was _Cassie_?  
As if in answer to his question, Wonder Woman's protégé burst through the cloud of death, her gauntleted wrists crossed over her face like a battering ram. She fell to the ground, skidding to a halt before pulling herself up on one knee, panting hard and spitting blood. Her damp, blond hair clung to her flushed face, and there was a painful looking gash across her exposed abdomen, starting just under the red tube top emblazoned with Wonder Woman's symbol and ending at the waist of the matching tights.

She held a gore-covered sword in her left hand that Robin almost immediately recognized as part of the Greek exhibit. She held her golden lasso in the other, coiled and ready to be thrown. Not that she looked like she was capable of standing, much less fighting.

_She's spent._ "Cassie--!" He yelled.

"Get down!" Greta finished. The superhuman girl flattened herself against the ground an instant before Greta opened fire, vaporizing a demon that was about to take the honorary Amazon's head off, and in another five seconds, all but three of the drones were so much dust, ash, and putrid jelly.

Before Robin could react, two of them were covering the cannons, holding them in place. As Greta angrily pressed the triggers, the third zoomed towards her, claws outstretched for the kill. She tried to move the cannons up, but the carcasses were jamming up the works, and they refused to budge. The air was suddenly filled with a single, ear-shattering scream of panic.

Robin's hands were off the throttle even before he realized exactly what was going on, and he surged forward, vaulting over the pitiful little Plexiglas-like window in front of him, hearing himself scream. "No! You can't have her!" It wasn't until his feet hit the front edge of the Cycle that he remembered his staff was gone, that he had no useful weapons to speak of. But in that instant, none of it mattered.

By the time the thing was a foot away, close enough that he could smell its rotting breath, he was crouching in front of the girl that occupied his first thoughts when he woke up, the last when he went to bed, and every other one in between. A split second later, when the thing was close enough that he felt its foul wind on his face, his hands were at his belt, pulling his only flare from its compartment and every teargas bomb he had, Bruce's voice from years ago whispering in the back of his mind like some grim, avenging Jiminy Cricket: _"Never throw a flare into a dense cloud of the extra-strength teargas, or you'll risk an explosion comparable to ... "_

His aim was perfect, the smoke pellets exploding in the thing's glistening, fanged maul just as he cracked the seal on the flare, its neon light almost blinding as he sent it like a javelin into the space between its jaws. He spun on his heel the moment it left his fingertips, wrapping her in his beaten, abused cape and pulling her face into the crook of his neck, barely bothering to worry if her now muffled scream meant she was having trouble breathing, praying it and his body would be enough to protect her from the blast. When the explosion slammed into him an instant later, he felt himself hurling off his perch and almost falling into her lap, ears ringing, and he had to torque his chest to make sure the sharpened edges of the R-shaped golden shiruken over his heart didn't slice into her neck. The heat lapped at his back and he screamed, tears prickling in his tightly closed eyes.

God, he was scared.

Not for himself. Almost never for himself, anymore, no matter how egotistical or stupid that was. No, he was scared that this beautiful, wonderful person huddled beneath him, who had managed to survive every horror and torture fate and Darkseid and the US government had thrown her way and come out stronger for it in the end, was going to die because she loved him with all her heart and trusted him enough to follow him anywhere, and he dared return that love with everything he had, consequences be damned. It was the one fear that kept him awake at night, that made him stand guard over her when she had a nightmare, staying awake for hours just to be sure she was there and it wasn't part of some demon's plot to rip out her soul. And now he was too damned scared to open his eyes and see if the still form in his arms was still alive, or if he had been too slow when it really mattered.

"T-T-Tim?" Her whisper hit his ears like a velvet hammer, and he released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "W-what ... ?"

_Thank God. Thank you, God._ "It's alright. I--" he looked over his shoulder, at the headless drone body laying on the floor. Wonder Girl was pulling herself shakily to her feet. "It's gone."

"I," she whispered breathlessly, "I couldn't move the--I thought it was going to--and I couldn't think--_oh, God._"

"Hey," he whispered back. "You know I wouldn't let anything hurt you. Not ever. It's over. That was the last of them."

The vice grip on his shoulders loosened, but she didn't look at him. "I ... you need to help Cassie, Robin. I'll be fine. I'm just a little shaken up, that's all." Her head was in her lap, he shoulders rising and falling slowly.

He was glad she wasn't looking at him. She couldn't see the frown on his face. _You're a terrible liar, angel._ But she was right. Cassie needed his help. "I'll be right back, then we'll all get out of here."

He stepped backwards off the front of the Cycle, and was kneeling next to Cassandra Sandsmark before his cape had managed to settle back around his shoulders. She was breathing hard, and almost didn't seem to notice him. "Cassie, are you alright? Can you talk--"

"Help me up!" she rasped. "I've got to get to Mom. I hid her from them ... while we fought ... got everyone else out ... couldn't get her out of the way ..."

The wild look in her eyes suddenly made a lot more sense. Whatever was wrong with Helen, it wasn't anything minor. He wrapped a hand around her hip and another around her wrist, and pulled her up. "You can drop the sword now, Cassie," he coaxed. "It's over." It fell from her hand as she tried to find her legs. _God, she's shaken up. What the hell happened?_ "Where's your mother? _Where's_ _Helen_?"

She shook her head. "T-this way." She half-flew, half-ran towards what he thought was a random pile of debris on the other side of the room, and for one horrible moment he thought Helen Sandsmark was trapped underneath. But then he got closer, and realized it looked almost ... deliberate. _Barricade._

He moved forward to help clear away the debris, but Wonder Girl got there first, seizing a big cement slab that had to weigh at least a ton and throwing it aside like it was nothing. There were a few smaller pieces of debris underneath, obviously laid hastily, and she when she swatted them away Robin could see a ten foot tall solid bronze statue of the Norse god Odin, laid over on its side. The whimpering sounds were louder now. "Hang on, Mom! I'm getting you out now. Robin's here. He ... all the things are gone now. Greta here too. She blew them up. Can you believe it? Everything will be fine," her voice trembled with panic as she spoke, grabbing the statue with both hands, lifting the statue high over her head and turning, tossing it away like he might hurl a beach ball and rushing into the little nook she had revealed.

"_Jesus!_" Robin fell to his knees, crawling in after her. Helen Sandsmark was curled in a small ball, barely conscious. Her head was wrapped in a t-shirt he presumed Cassie had been wearing over her costume. It was soaked in blood, and all of it seemed to be coming from the place between her nose and hairline. _Her eyes..._ "Cassie," he said gently, "What happened?" Silence. She just stared at her mother as if she'd never seen her before, hands hanging limply over her face. He deepened his voice, slowing it down just a bit. "_Wonder Girl._ What happened here?"

She seemed to come back to herself. "Do you have any bandages?" He wordlessly reached into a compartment on his cape, and pulled out a few sterile gauze pads. She started unwrapping her shirt, but her mother barely stirred. When it stuck to her face, Robin soundlessly produced a tube of saline and cracked it over the stuck spot, narrowing his eyes to disguise his mounting horror. "They ... they came out of boom tubes--_wake up, Mom, say something_--I thought they were parademons at first. But then they all talked at once, like zombies, something about how my mother didn't really need to watch any of what was about to happen." She almost had the shirt off.

"They firebombed the foundation, didn't they? I saw the lobby." Asking was really pointless now, but he couldn't stand the silence.

"The blast," she gulped, nodding, "it forced me away from her. One of them grabbed her and pushed her face toward a burning tapestry. She was screaming--Hera, I've never heard anyone scream like that. I pulled her away and flew in here so I'd have room to fight, but ... She could walk a little at first, but by the time we got here she'd almost completely passed out. I wasn't fast enough. Look ..." The shirt came off, and Robin couldn't stop the bile this time, jerking his head to the side and coughing up into a dent in the floor. Cassie sobbed.

The skin below her nose was pristine, just as he remembered. But her eyes--the burns were everywhere, grey like spent charcoal and glistening with drying blood. The hair that used to hang in her face was burnt away, her tortured face naked to the elements. Her eyelids were closed, but blood and something white were seeping from the space where they met.

He laid the gauze across her face as gently as he could, and stood up, wiping his mouth. "Can you pick her up? I need you to carry her."  
"Where...?" she muttered, already cradling the older woman in her arms.

Robin frowned. "You weren't the only one they hit ... they're targeting former Young Justice members. We're holing up in the Fortress of Solitude for now. We've got a doctor there. She'll take care of your mother."

Cassie didn't stop moving, still wobbling on her feet, but when she spoke her voice was acid. "_How_? They burned her eyes out. They _burned her eyes out_, and I wasn't fast enough to stop them."

"However she can, Cassie. She's one of the best; she's kept Batman in one piece for almost fifteen years." He thought for a moment. "I don't trust any doctor more."

She was quiet, then whispered, "You said the others were attacked? Are they alright?"

He sighed. He knew the question was coming, but couldn't think of a way to spin the answer so it didn't make her feel even worse. "I've seen Kon and Kid Flash so far. Superboy's making sure the Fortress is in order, and Kid Flash is on his way to Cissie and Empress. He sent a scout to keep an eye of Mrs. Hayes until I can figure out the best way to get her out. We don't know where the others are yet. We're going to have to find them. But so far ... yeah, everybody's well enough."

"The Kents," she said flatly. "Your parents?"

"Fine," he returned evenly. "Look, Cassie--"

"My mother needs a doctor, _Robin_," she said icily, even though she didn't walk any faster. He didn't think she could, and for that matter, his earlier exploits were starting to catch up with him. He wondered if he'd even be able to _move_ in an hour..

After an excruciatingly long time his chronometer told him was only about fifteen seconds, he was next to the Cycle. Cassie floated in and laid her mother on the couch, resting her head in her lap, finally getting Greta's attention. She raised her head, eyes redder and puffier than before. She took one look at the pair behind her and then jerked her head towards Robin as he climbed in. "What's wrong with her?"

"They burned her face," he said, "bad. We need to get her to Leslie." He was already punching coordinates in. "Now." Cassie didn't even acknowledge the other girl.

Greta looked ready to burst into tears, and suddenly tried to change the subject. "Robin," she began, "the weapons, I don't think they work right anymore."

_Probably not. That little kamikaze stunt probably burnt out the coils. _"Don't worry about it for now." He sighed. "I think the first round is over." _And so far, we're losing._ The portal stretched open before them, and he urged them forward.

* * *

The Cycle sped out of the portal, and Robin found himself wondering not for the first time why Clark had to keep his Fortress in the Coldest Place on Earth. And it wasn't just the usual annoyance at emerging arctic temperatures bothering him now. He had a seriously wounded woman in the back of the Cycle. She did _not_ need to be out in this. "Cassie," he called, "there are heated blankets under the seats. Grab three and throw me one." _At least it's not snowing._ She heard her rustling around behind him, then a grunt as she hurled something towards him. He snapped the blanket out of the air without looking and passed it down to Greta. "Wrap yourselves up. It'll take us a minute or two. Superman doesn't let any Boom Tubes get too close. Part of the security." _All the good it's doing right now..._ He pulled another piece of gauze from his cape. "And hold this over your stomach."

"What about--" Greta started through chattering teeth.

"My suit's insulated. I'll be fine." _At least, my other suit_. The parts of him that weren't covered were already numb. When Superman got back, they were going to have a _long_ talk. _At least Bruce gave Clark the codes for the secure frequencies._ He tapped his ear. "This is Robin to Fortress of Solitude. I'm closing on your position. Prepare the medbay--I've got seriously wounded on board."

He wasn't surprised when Alfred's voice answered back. It never took him long to take charge. _"Understood, Master Robin."_ A pause. _"The nature of the injuries?_" No emotion he he could hear.

"Wonder Girl has a laceration on her stomach and," he gulped, "her mother has suffered severe burns to the upper face. She's semi-conscious right now."

_"My heavens."_ No attempt to hide his emotions now. _"Leslie and I will meet you in the arrival bay. Miss Greta?"_

"I'm still here, Alfred," she said quietly. "Robin saved me..."

_I was also the one that dragged you into this mess._ "One of those damned _things_ almost took her head off, Alfred. I barely--where are the others? Who's reported in?"

_"It is rather ... busy here at the moment, sir. Superboy has given Dr. Thompkins the full run of the medical facilities. She has also treated his injuries. He informed me of your most recent realizations in regards to the plans of your mysterious attacker, as well. The Kents are well, if not shaken up. Kid Flash has arrived with those you sent him for ... all of them."_ The sudden edge in his voice told Robin he'd soon be face to face with an A.P.E.S. agent, but that was a problem for later. _"He reports his scout remains undisturbed at his post. I trust you will be able to make more of this cryptic bit of information than I. He also claims to have informed Mistress Raven of our current location. We have yet to hear anything from the Oracle, though Batgirl reports she is unharmed, and in the process of trying to return her systems to a usable state. Your parents ... will benefit greatly from your return._"

The Urban Legend eased them into a turn, and an ice pyramid with crystalline domes around it filled his vision. "Understood. We'll be touching down in about forty-five seconds. See you soon." This time, it was Alfred who closed the line. A seam opened up in the crystal, and he adjusted his course. _Almost there._. He would make sure Helen got the help she needed, retrieve Ellen Hayes, and track down Snapper, Red Tornado, Traya, and Kathy.

_Then it's my turn, you sadistic son of a bitch_

* * *

The landing bay was immaculate. He suddenly understood the appeal of the Fortress for Superman. When the world finally got to be too much to handle, he could shut himself up inside and pretend all the horrors outside weren't real, if only for a little while. Bruce would never do such a thing, and that's what made them so utterly different. He _couldn't._

As soon as they were down, Alfred and Leslie were running towards them, a gurney floating between them and a pair of Superman's squat little robots flanking their sides. Somehow, even running at breakneck speed, Alfred managed to look composed and in control. Leslie, on the other hand, dressed in a emerald green sundress the Englishman had bought her for her birthday, looked nothing less than panicked. _Probably didn't like having to hide away here. We only ask her to move when the sky is_ really_ falling._

A shadow passed over his head. He didn't have to look up to know it was Cassie, cradling her mother like a baby. _Looks like you've got your stamina back. You're going to need it._

Without acknowledging them, Leslie peeled the gauze gently away from the archeologist's face. He couldn't see her wounds from where he was sitting, but he remembered them well enough. When all the color drained from her face and Alfred nearly swore, he knew his imagination wasn't embellishing. "Leslie?" he asked finally, her reaction unnerving him.

"I'll ... I'll do what I can, Robin. You're her daughter, young lady?" she addressed Wonder Girl almost in a whisper, and the gentle tone scared him for some reason. _At least it'll force some sort of response from Cassie._

"Y-yes," she choked out finally. "I am."

"You'd better come with us." Leslie, Cassie, the robots, and the stretcher disappeared, thick double doors closing behind them. Alfred trailed behind, then paused, turning back.

"Master Robin? Your wounds must be attended to..."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Alfred. You said Bonnie's here. She's a trained nurse. I'll get one of the robots to bring her some supplies. The things I asked for?"

"Waiting for you in what Agent Maad has taken to calling the 'War Room,' young sir. And I do not believe your father's charm has anything to do with it."

Robin frowned. "Normally I'd eat Starfire's cooking before I agreed with anything _he_ said, but it's a fitting description, given the circumstances. Thanks."

"Indeed." There was nothing reserved about the dark look on Alfred's face. "Miss Greta, do you require anything?"

She shook her head shakily. "I'm fi...I'm with Robin. I'll be okay." She tried to smile at him and failed. "He's going to get my mother as soon as he gets cleaned up."

The major domo's smile was short lived but sincere. "Of course, young lady. I shall see you later, then. I must go. Miss Sandsmark's wounds are ... most grievous." He took a deep breath. "We will do everything we can, as we always do," he repeated, and was gone.

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose; a nasty stress headache was building there. "I know, Alfred. I know." He let the hand fall to his side, felt it clenching into an almost painful fist against his will. _Everything ... God, it's all spiraling out of control. What am I supposed do now?_ Finding the others was his immediate concern, but after that, everything got a lot harder. He'd barely spent twenty minutes with his father before they were nearly at each other's throats all over again. _Ishido Maad_, of all people, was right in the middle of everything, and he couldn't justify casting him out. If he didn't trust him only slightly more than he trusted Lex Luthor, that wouldn't have been a problem, but that just wasn't how it was between them. _So many problems..._

"I shouldn't be here." Greta's voice cut into his impromptu brood--and he knew that was _exactly_ what it was--and his attention was suddenly drawn to her. Only then did he realize she was being _far_ too quiet.

Slowly this time, he lifted himself out of his chair and climbed down, sitting on the edge of the now inactive weapons console. Her face was as red and splotchy as before, but her eyes were different. He couldn't read them as easily as he normally could. "What? What's wrong, Greta?"

"It's not important right now," she said, looking at him but somehow not, "Not right now. Later, when this is over ..."

"Greta," he hated cutting her off, "this won't be over for a _while_. I don't even know enough about what's going on to guess. If something's bothering you now, tell me, please."

She shook her head reluctantly. "This isn't like before Tim. This isn't the same thing as nightmares we can snuggle up and talk about after you get done keeping the city in one piece. Someone's trying to kill us all, and you don't know who or why or even where Reddy and the others are. Now is _not_ the time."

_And here's the stubbornness._ He loved that part of her; it matched him perfectly and was probably a vital part of their relationship, the ability to deal with whatever hardships came along and each other's decidedly rough moods (they were both legends when it came to that, second only to Batman and Nightwing), but sometimes it could work against them. The trick, he knew, was knowing when and how to yield. "No, it's not the good time, you're right. But it's the best we're likely to get. I ... I've never liked to scare you or make you sad, but I've always been honest since we started this ... this ... us. I'm sort of flying by the seat of my pants, here. So far all I've done is react, and I'm not sure how soon that's going to change. I do know--my gut is telling me, and it's usually right--that things are likely to get worse before they get better. So if you're not alright please tell me, let me help you if I can. And aside from that, Greta, I need your help right now. I can't do this without you." He hadn't planned that last sentence, but once it came out he knew it was true.

She looked at him for a moment, head tilted, the blank expression suddenly giving way to a sort of sadness he hadn't had the misfortune to glimpse before. "No. That's just it. You don't need me. I can't help you now, not like the others."

His mind jerked back to her pleading with Bart, and it clicked. _Whoa. Some detective I am._ "This is about you not being able to fight with us like you used to, isn't it? You aren't trained for this ... you never told me you wanted to be."

She just stared at him, eyes burning with that peculiar sadness. "You always manage to coax it out of me, don't you?" She sounded bemused, and for the life of him he didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"I could say the same to you, Greta." He peeled away his mask. This was a conversation she needed to have with Tim Drake, not the Batman's squire.

She sighed. "That's part of it, but it's not that simple. I don't miss being Secret, Tim. At least not the way you probably think I do. I'm not jealous of you or any of the others, the way you face down maniacs every day for a society that tolerates you at best. I don't miss being unable to turn anything bigger than my hand solid for more than a few minutes. I don't miss _never_ having any meaningful physical contact with anything or anyone. I don't miss not breathing ... being half dead, whether Hal wanted to call it that or not. And _God_, I certainly don't miss those bastards at the DEO always trying to catch me and put me in an electrified cage so those so called 'doctors' could try to figure out ..." her face screwed up in nothing short of rage, he took her hands, and she laughed a bitter, _ugly_ laugh. "You know, I still don't know what they were so interested in me for. I knew they experimented on the others, but I could tell--I didn't know what to call it then--there was this sick sort of fascination they had with me. No, that's not right. There was no me. It was always 'the creature,' 'the specimen,'" a tear slid down her cheek. "'It.'"

"Greta..." he massaged her hands through the gloves, subtly hitting the acupressure points he knew were supposed to calm. "They can't hurt you anymore ... and you were never an 'it,' no matter what they said." _Monsters. All of them._ Someday, he'd see the Department of Extranormal Operations burnt to the ground for good, not just for Greta, but everyone else they hurt. Maybe he'd ask Green Arrow to help...

"Let me finish, please." Deep, shuddering breaths. "I wouldn't trade my life now for anything, but today, when the Cycle came, I knew what it meant. It was there to whisk you away to save the day, and I was okay with that. You're a hero. But then you were taking me with you ... because you had no choice, because leaving me on my own _wasn't safe_ ... do you know why I thought to activate the weapons?"

He shook his head.

"You'll be surprised," that awful derisive laugh again. "I was scared. Not for myself ... I'm almost never scared for myself when I'm with you. I was afraid because I can tell when you're nervous, and when you're nervous it usually means something bad's coming. I wasn't sure I'd be able to help you if you really needed it. I was going to try, but ... Then when we were in Smallville, when you asked me to fire on those _things_, I froze." She shook his hands. "Tim, my _fingers wouldn't move._ When your father ... said what he said, I felt like I'd been slapped. 'Before those things realize we're here and start trying to kill us.' All I saw was you, Tim. I saw them killing you in my mind, ripping you apart, and I could move my fingers again. I didn't realize what I was doing until I'd already fired. Once I started it was so _easy_, but I didn't dare stop to think about what I was _actually_ doing or what I would do if those things actually got close to me. I couldn't. I even started to think that maybe, _maybe_, I didn't need to."

Another piece of the puzzle slid in. "And then it happened. In the museum. The last three."

A nod. "When the cannons stopped and that third one was coming at me, I tried to think of something to do--_anything_--but I just ended up realizing that I didn't know _what_ to do. I even thought ... just for a second," she looked suddenly guilty, "I knew you were hurting ... you can't hide yourself from me with that mask and voice and glare like you do everybody else--I," she suddenly sounded ashamed, "I thought I was going to die, and I couldn't think of a thing to do but scream. And I knew you would feel responsible, would tear yourself up, all because I was too helpless to leave in a Gotham alley and too stupid to defend myself. But then you were there, screaming, wrapping yourself around me, and that thing was goopy ash. You came through, like you always do."

She shook her head. "Don't you get it, Tim? Even when you're wounded, confused, and shocked, you still have perfect control over what's going on around you. Even Kon and Bart kept their heads together. Cassie ... I guess she had an excuse, didn't she? Me," she waved her hands around the room, "I don't belong here, Tim. I can't _do_ anything anymore. I don't know how to fight, I'm not a brilliant detective or a medic, and the thought of accidentally breaking some high-tech piece of equipment whenever Batman lets me in the Cave gives me cold sweats. If I tried that stunt with the cannons again, I'd probably just throw up. I guess the only reason I could handle being Secret was I knew I was almost completely invulnerable, so nothing could hurt me, no matter how inept I was. No wonder finding out there were people who actually knew how to _kill_ me freaked me so much." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm a coward, and I'm just in your way."

Tim just stared. As hard as he tried, there were no words. All of it probably seemed so logical and clear to her, but it was the most horrible sort of _false_ logic, the kind invented by a mind eager to punish itself for some imagined sin, easy enough for any outsider to recognize as flawed, but almost impossible to argue against.

Luckily, he'd done the impossible before. The almost impossible wasn't nearly so difficult. He braced himself. "You're not a coward, Greta. Whether you want to believe it or not, you're the bravest person I know. And today, you were braver than I can ever hope to be."

She raised her eyebrows, _so_ totally not convinced. "Liar."

He resisted the urge to frown. Between them, that single word was worse than any physical blow. This rut wasn't going to be easy to shake. _And why should it be? Some bastard just had his cockroach hellbeasts try to tear her in half._ "Hear me out, Greta, please. She shook her head. "Three years. Three years before he would even let me _hold_ the costume. I still swear he tried his damnedest to wash me out. And it wasn't just physical training, even though that was a big part of it. He taught me investigative techniques, conditioned me as best he could for what I would find out there, the situations I would find myself in, never satisfied until I could spout off a solution to a proposed scenario in five seconds or less. In my sleep. But there was more. He made a habit of 'allowing' me to assist on cases. And some of them were ... nasty. The first time I saw a naked body that didn't belong to one of my parents I was looking at morgue photos.

"He wanted me to be able to see terrible things and not flinch, because the time you spend flinching is time when you probably should be beating someone's face in, saving someone's life, or jumping out of some skel's line of fire--maybe all three at once. He made sure I knew as much as I could before he let me out, even sent me for training after I was officially _active_, if you want to call it that, and I _still_ get surprised, every night. I know I'm smart, but the reason I can react the way I do is that I was _relentlessly_ prepared, for _years_, for one purpose, to the point that I wasn't the same innocent kid I had been when I showed up at the Manor that first night by the time I tied the cape around my neck for my first patrol. And I still wasn't ready for how wicked the streets can be."

He had to keep going now, he was on a roll and she no longer looked like she wanted to slap him. "When the Cycle came, I hated myself for bringing you along, but I had no choice. You were out, and I was dragging you into who-knew-what sort of danger. I knew you were scared. I could tell. But you raised your head up high and held my hand and off we went. To say I was impressed would be an understatement." He took a deep breath. "Think of what you did today. You're right. You've never had any formal training except for Young Justice drills, and those _did_ all focus on powers you don't have anymore--that was my fault--you were scared and confused because no one ever taught you what to do in the event a giant bug army was flying at you and you couldn't just wrap them up in noxious fumes and melt them, and my father was decidedly _not_ helping.

"But when it came down to it, you forced it all down and did more than anyone expected of you. No, you didn't have the training or the experience, but you decided no one would get hurt while you had _anything_ to do with it. I've never had to do anything unprepared, not since the night Batman agreed to train me. And you know what, Greta?" He smiled at her. "Standing up and having the will to fight for the right thing when even your own mind is screaming that you can't win, that you shouldn't even be trying, that'd it be _so much easier_ to roll over and give up, _that_ is what heroes are made of. I don't expect one little speech on my part to make everything better right away, but you are _not_ a coward, at least believe that much. As for being scared," his smile faded.

"When that thing came for you, I just _moved_. That big explosion? That was a flare mixed with a teargas grenade that was either going to incinerate the damned thing or fizzle out and get us both killed. I ... was out of tricks. Afterwards, I was afraid to open my eyes. My ears were ringing and you were so still and I couldn't hear your breathing and I wasn't sure I'd moved fast enough--" He suddenly couldn't talk anymore, a pair of familiar lips pressing against his own.

She pulled away few heartbeats later and looked at him with uncertain eyes. "You don't want me dwelling on things. You don't do it either. You mean what you said? You're not just saying it all to make me feel better?"

He grinned. "I would never build you up like that. It would be worse than lying. I couldn't have done it without you."

Her smile widened for an instant, to the point he saw her dimples. "You still want my help? Even if I can't leap tall buildings or break the sound barrier? And let's be honest, I'll probably lose it again before we're done."

_You think I won't?_ "Fear isn't anything to be ashamed of. I help you through yours, and you help me through mine. That's what we've been doing for a year, and it's worked great so far. I need you, Greta. I don't know any other way to say it." The truth again, more potent than he imagined. "We're facing this together, then? Whatever it is?"

She swallowed, and he saw that amazing resolve settle back on her face. "Always. I need you too, Tim. But for now," She took his hand, pressing the Robin mask into his palm and closing his fist. "I think everybody else needs their heroic, fearless leader. Can ... can we get my mother now?"

He reapplied the mask, feeling the power of the Robin persona sweep over him again. He took her hand, the corners of his mouth twitching up when she gave it a confident squeeze. "Yeah. Whatever happens next, just remember ... if you do whatever you can, the best you can, no one has any right to ask more of you. Follow me."


	8. Dante's Cuckoo's Nest

A/N: See previous chapters for full notes. Thanks to Vincent Hales for naming help.

If Disney on Ice held a show on the bridge of the _Starship Enterprise_, Dana was pretty sure it would look something like this. She was standing in the middle of _Superman's_ _ice fortress_, of all places, watching a black girl in shorts, a white t-shirt, and a purple full face mask make fish noises. Another girl with features Dana swore she'd seen before was trying to help her calm down a pair of chocolate skinned toddlers. An ornate wooden baton stuck out of the masked girl's pocket, dried green viscera glistening on its surface. They'd all come with Kid Flash, who was leaning against a far wall and--there was no other way to describe it--fidgeting at super speed. _At least I'm not the only nervous one around here._ Superboy disappeared with Jonathan and Martha after giving a flurry of orders to the little robots, with an older woman Dana was pretty sure was Dr Leslie Thompkins. Alfred Pennyworth had barely spoken to them; he sat at the room's large computer console, so big it took up an entire wall, monitoring for incoming signals. Aside from the occasional sideways glance, everyone seemed to be ignoring she and Jack completely. _Figures. In here _we're_ the scary ones._

Jack growled suddenly, making her jump. "Where the hell is he?"

She blinked. "What?"

"He should've been here by now," Jack whispered. "Did he even say where he and Ger ... Gi ... _that girl_ were going? He pissed someone off enough to want to kill him and now he's just flying around _looking for trouble_. What's wrong with him? Doesn't he see how _dangerous_ and _reckless_--?" He pointed at an observation window, taking a deep breath. "Some bastard is trying to kill my son, and he's _out there_, talking about next moves and making a stand and--_damn it, Dana_, why won't he just _listen to reason_?"

Dana felt like someone had just popped open her skull and gone after her brain with a whisk. _Why do you have to be such a_ complicated _ass?_ "I just want to be clear on this. You do nothing but berate him since he shows up--to save our lives, I remind you--and now that he's not in earshot you finally start showing some genuine, anger-free concern for his welfare?" She would have much rather had this conversation in private, but the only door she could find led to the Hall of Weapons, and she was _not_ having this talk next to Kryptonian battle armor. _Why does Superman have a Hall of Weapons?_

He looked just as confused as she did, answering her in the same urgent whisper. "I've _always_ been concerned for his welfare. Why the hell do you think I don't want him out there with _them_ doing ... whatever the hell it is they think they do? But he acts like he's _invulnerable_, like he's got _all the answers_. What the hell is going on in his head, Dana? Tim's always been a smart kid. How can he think ... how can he do this?" There was only the confusion now.

Dana felt a tear sting her cheek. _Armageddon had to happen before he gets to the point?_ She felt a bitter understanding. She'd always thought it was purely a control issue, motivated by fear for Tim's life and loathing of Bruce Wayne. "That's it, isn't it? You don't understand him at all. You found out about Robin and instead of discussing it with him or trying to understand--that would have meant really admitting to yourself how much you've lost touch--you just clamed up, shut him down, and figured you could just pretend it never happened. Am I right?"

Silence, then, "It wasn't supposed to be this way, Dana." His face hardened for a moment. "Don't think I approve of any of this, but," he sighed. "I never imagined how much it really meant to him. I thought it was a game, that Way--er--Batman had brainwashed him somehow. All that mattered to me was stopping his self-destructive behavior. I'll admit it--I was furious when I found out he'd lied to me, but part of that anger was for me, too. How could I have been so blind? I took too much of it out on him, I saw myself doing it and couldn't stop. And then ... he was gone."

Jack sighed, still not meeting her eyes. "Now we're here, and I feel like I don't know up from down anymore. Look around, at these people. This is Tim's world, now. You heard that girl. He's _in charge_ here. How? Why? How did any of this happen without me noticing?" He looked deflated. "Every time I try to talk to him I get frustrated and blow it. He was actually going to knock me out back there. Then I saw that girl, the way he looked at her--I'd always imagined when he was ready for a serious relationship he would come to me and we would talk about it. Ha. I think I'm losing him, Dana." He sighed and looked away.

_I guess you had to see it for yourself._ "I know you don't understand, honey," she said gently, turning him to look at her. "I don't either, not completely. I've been waiting for the day when you would admit it, and to be honest, I'm not thrilled it took this kind of push. But here we are. If you really want to patch things up with him, it won't be easy."

Jack stared out the window again. "I want my son back."

She sighed. How long she'd wanted to hear those words from him. But she never imagined they would have to nearly die first. "You admit you don't know him, Jack. You've got to change that." _But I wonder ... getting him back means accepting the mask and cape. Are you really, really ready to do that?_

He snorted, frowning. "How? I can't even talk to him anymore. I fucked up, Dana."

She wrapped an arm around his waist. She never liked seeing his guilty side. "You want my real opinion? Eventually, you have to swallow your pride and reach out to him. But if that's too difficult to do right now, you've got to start learning about him, _the real him_, however you can." She looked around. "And these people, his friends, I'm sure they'd be willing to teach you. All you've got to do is listen. Just observe and see what you can pick up. Baby steps."

He looked away from her. "That's pathetic, isn't it? I don't even know my own son anymore. And I'm not sure I won't blast him again. I don't mean to. I just get so ... so ..."

"I know." She hugged him fully now. "I don't expect everything to get better in a few hours. Your relationship ... isn't healthy anymore, baby. I just want you to try for me. Really try. Once he sees that, he'll try too. We'll do it together, if you want."

He smiled finally, just a bit. "I think I'd like that."

Dana grinned. _Not so hopeless, after all. _ She suddenly wondered darkly what would have happened in the end if this maniac had never forced the three of them back together. She decided she didn't like the thought.

"Dana?" he asked quietly, staring at the glaciers outside.

"Yeah?" She smiled at the gentleness in his voice. It was just for her.

"Whatever happens, I just want you to know how much I love you. I know how unbearable I can get. Thanks ... for sticking with me."

She flashed a soft grin at him. "I love you too, Jack." She kissed him lightly, not caring who was watching. "And I don't plan on going anywhere."

Dana felt something brush against her, and looked down to see one of the toddlers steadying himself with Jack's pantleg, and staring up at him. He blinked at them, and then looked directly at Jack. "Big Robin."

Her husband sputtered. "W-What?"

Dana almost broke into a fit of giggles. "And you give me a bad time when I say you two look alike. If a baby can see it..." Dana smiled at the child and started to kneel, but before she was low enough to pick him up, a blue flash filled her vision and the dark-skinned girl was standing there.

The boy stopped trying to pull down Jack's pants and grinned at her, a perfectly innocent look suddenly on his face. "Hi."

The girl tilted her head, bronze pony tail bouncing behind her. "Don't you 'hi,' me, mon. Just _why_ did you tell Oshii those things were coming here?"

The boy's grin never faltered. "Wanted to scare her. Hugs me more when she's scared," the boy said simply.

The girl just looked at him. "You wanted--she doesn't hug you when _you're_ the one that scares her! Urgh. I'm not old enough for this."

Dana finally couldn't hold it anymore. Jack snickered.

The girl picked up the baby with one hand and pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. Behind her, the other child was playing tug-of-war with the blonde's hair. "Hang on, Cissie!" The girl turned on her heel and ran off.

Jack whistled. "That ... was interesting. Did she just ..."

Dana blinked. "Appear out of thin air? Yep." Two of the little robots rolled by, deep in conversation. "I wonder what passes for _weird_ around here."

A male voice cut in. "That flying motorcycle that brought you here had babies once. You must be Robin's parents."

Jack and Dana spun on their heels, and found another couple looking at them. The woman was nearly identical to the blond girl and looked to be in her late thirties, and Dana knew instantly she had to be her mother. She wore a yellow sundress, and watched her daughter out of the corner of her eye. The man was just a bit shorter and looked very well-built in kahki shorts and a t-shirt from the last Olympics. His features were slightly Asian and far from ugly, but had a certain roughness. But what really caught Dana's attention was the large black rifle in his left hand--easily two feet long and wider than both her arms put together. A fearsome looking chrome pistol hung from a holster slung over his shoulder.

Before Dana could react, Jack had stepped forward and straightened his back, like he was trying to make himself look taller. "I'd ask if you were serious, but I'm not sure I want to know. That's ... a very nice pair of guns you have there."

Dana frowned. Not that she enjoyed talking to someone while they casually swung a bazooka in one hand, but Jack's macho act wasn't likely to impress. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Alfred stepping away from the console and heading for the door, a dour look on his face. A large suitcase and two parcels wrapped in brown paper were sitting by his chair.

The blond woman cast a light glare at her companion, then smirked at him. "I told you lugging that thing around would make people uncomfortable, Ish."

He looked sheepish. "Hey, not my fault! If I put this thing down, Donny might get a hold of it. I asked one of the little robots where I could put it like you said, but it just beeped at me. I'm just glad I had the stuff in my trunk when those things showed up." He extended a hand. "I haven't introduced myself. Ishido Maad, All Purpose Enforcement Squad, at your service."

His companion smiled and followed suit. "Bonnie King-Jones. The young lady over there trying to keep those two distracted from what's going on is my daughter, Cissie."

"I'm Dana, and this is my husband Jack. We're ... Robin's parents." When it came to secret identities, she didn't know who knew what. Jack seemed to be thinking along the same lines. It was weird, having to think about what the next simple thing you said might give away. _How did Tim do this for so long?_ She blinked. _He still does it. Every day._

Jack started. "Wait a second--_Cissie King-Jones_?" For a split second, Jack's eyes boggled. "You're not talking about--"

"The Olympic archer," Dana finished. "_That's_ where I recognized her from."

Ishido grinned. "Don't make a big deal out of it. The paparazzi have been chasing her since they got photos of her locking lips with Kid Flash, and she's getting kind of raw about it. I offered to have them killed, but that didn't go over well." He shrugged.

_Morbid jokes. Great._ "Okay," Dana said, "but how are you involved in ..." she trailed off.

The two looked at each other for a moment, almost as if uncertain how to answer. Finally, Ishido said, "My niece," he motioned at the girl in the purple mask, "was a member of Young Justice. And Cissie and Greta Hayes are roommates at St. Elias."

Dana tilted her head. She couldn't help thinking it wasn't that simple. _Doesn't Tim have any _normal_ friends? Now I know why he was always so vague about his friend Cissie._ It still didn't explain why the archer actually looked like she belonged here.

"Okay," Jack said, "so you work for the government? I've never heard of your agency before."

"We're a multinational cooperative task force. We deal with a lot of stuff normal law enforcement can't handle--metahuman criminals, that sort of thing. I can't really say more than that."

"It's like having my own James Bond," Bonnie said quickly. "In more ways than one." Ishido blushed.

_He just happens to be a government agent? No way_, Dana thought, _there's more to the story._ Still, aside from the giant cannon, he seemed friendly enough.

"Right," Jack said, "everybody around here's got plenty of secrets." But his face brightened. "So the government's in on this? Good. Maybe now my son will let the authorities handle things."

Dana frowned, but to her surprise, so did Maad. "I'm sure A.P.E.S. will try to get involved, and probably the Department of Extranormal Operations, too. But don't assume that's a good thing."

Bonnie didn't say anything, but laid a hand on Ishido's shoulder, her face suddenly stormy. Jack frowned again. "But don't you work for them?"

He nodded. "I do. Let's just say if you're looking for someone to do the right thing as quickly as possible, a government agency is _not_ always the way to go--especially mine. I'm here to protect my niece and her friends. The fact that I'm legally empowered to do that is just convenience. And if I tried to take over," he looked at the weapon in his hand, "they'd probably beat me over the head with this thing. As for your son," the agent smiled, "congratulations on a job well done."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Maad smiled thinly. "It's an honor to meet you. Your son has a sense of justice and loyalty that most grown men I know can't match, and he fosters it in others. His friends would follow him barefoot into hell if he said the word. People like that aren't just formed by a few years of tutoring from the Batman. So, nice job."

Dana grinned to herself. She'd try to tell Jack as much before, but she never got through. But maybe, if he heard it from someone who didn't have an obvious bias, it might sink in.

A piece of one of the crystalline walls dissolved, and Tim walked--no, stalked--in, cape draped over his injured side. Greta was holding his other hand, and unless Dana was mistaken, they'd both been crying. _What happened?_ Ishido and Bonnie turned to look, and Dana didn't miss the uncertain, almost nervous flash in the man's eyes. At his spot on the wall, Kid Flash stopped moving. Even the babies stopped what they were doing.

Next to her, he heard Jack mutter. "About time."

* * *

The way everyone and everything turned towards him when the door opened, Robin half expected a trumpet to go off. _Yeah. No pressure._ Cissie and Anita seemed to have the kids under control, and all looked miraculously uninjured. _Small miracles._ Anita was still wearing her mask, no doubt hiding her identity from his parents and the Kents. So was Bart._ It must be taking everything he's got to stay still_. His parents, both looking relieved to see him, looked to be chatting with Bonnie and--his eyes narrowed behind the mask--Agent Maad. Greta's body turned to stone next to him, and her grip on his hand was for an instant painful. _ Dad made a friend_, he thought darkly. _Figures_. _Worry about that later. _He began moving for the chair at the room's central computer console, Greta quietly keeping pace with him. "Everybody in one piece?"

Cissie nodded at him. "Yeah, we're all fine."

The Urban Legend let a small, genuine smile cross his lips. "Nice to hear some good news."

"Where's Wonder Girl?" Anita asked. "Didn't you get her?"

His smile fell away, but it was Greta who answered. "She's with her mother. Those things hurt Helen," she finished sadly. Everyone's faces fell. "Cassie isn't taking it well," she added quietly.

_No kidding. I just hope she can keep it together._ He wasn't sure what he would do in her place. "Leslie's with her now," he continued, doing his best to sound reassuring. "Anybody seen Kon?" His parents were making their way towards him, Dana looking worried and his father looking like he was doing his best to stay calm. He collapsed into a chair at one of the terminals, Greta falling into the adjacent seat. Bart was suddenly next to him.

"He went down to the infirmary to get cleaned up. He took the K--his grandparents," the speedster supplied. "Anything I can do?"

"Yeah," Robin said, "first we need to get organized, then we've got people to find." He leaned over and pulled a heavy, thick black suitcase into his lap, popping the locks and opening it in one swift motion. One half contained a full-armor uniform, and the other all his equipment, including a full medkit. _Thanks Alfred. Just what I asked for._ He pulled out a small drawstring bag and tugged it open. "These are set for Batman's secure channel," he said, raising his voice so everybody could hear. "Large button for general communications, small one for Oracle--consider the latter an emergency backup." He pointed a finger at one of the little robots. "You. Come here."

"Yes, Master Robin," it said in an almost toyish monotone.

_Need to thank Kon for telling them to listen to me._ "Find Kon-El and Wonder Girl. Give them each one of these."

He dropped two earpieces in its hand and it was off with an emotionless, "At once."

He flagged another, retrieving the Kyrptonite dart from his belt. Maad gave him a strange look, and Cissie frowned at him. He handed it to the automaton. "I need a full spectrographic and microscopic analysis of this object, focusing especially on geophysical properties and radiation signature."

The robot beeped. "You are aware this object is dangerous to Master Kon-El?"

_Don't worry. I'm not stupid._ "I know. Keep it away from him, and destroy it when the analysis is complete."

"It shall be done. The results will be ready in about thirty standard minutes." The robot ambled off.

_Okay. Next._ He started typing on the console, trying to establish a connection with the Cave. "Cissie, I don't suppose you know where Reddy, Kathy, and Traya are?" _I've asked everybody else._

She shook her head, looking uncomfortable. "Sort of. They were taking Traya out to celebrate her report card. They wouldn't tell me where--they didn't want Greta finding out. I wasn't even supposed to know."

The shorter girl blinked. "What does that mean?"

Cissie grinned thinly. "They were afraid I'd tell you, and you'd tell Traya--you have to admit you're not very good at keeping secrets from her."

Greta folded her arms. "I can't help it. You know how she gets when she wants to know something. She pouts and makes ... that face ..." She gestured indeterminately. Robin frowned at the archer as Greta cleared her throat. "So you don't know where she is, either?" she was frowning now, all levity gone from her features. Cissie shook her head.

_Yeah, great Cissie. Blame it on Greta. Just what she needs to hear right now._ "Not good," Robin cut in. "I'm more worried about them then Snapper, if you want to know the truth. Reddy's tough, but it changes things when you've got two people who can't fight depending on you to keep them safe." He didn't miss the pained look coming from Dana, or the defensive flash in his father's eyes, and his frown deepened. He didn't mean it as a dig. "And, Traya's just a kid--the sooner we get her somewhere safe, the better. Snapper'll have to look after himself for a little longer." He didn't stop to think about how fast he'd made the decision to focus on Reddy--he only had limited resources for the moment. "Empress...I need you to try to contact your loa to track them."

He could see the girl tense from across the room. "It's been a while since I tried something like that. It's not full-proof, mon, and it could take a while if it does work."

The Urban Legend nodded, continuing his work at the keyboard. "I know. Just ... do the best you can."

"Yeah," Greta whispered. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too," Empress nodded at her. "I'll need a secluded place, and some stuff I don't have with me--nothing too hard to come by."

Robin gestured at another robot. "You heard her. Take her to a hardlight projection room. Show her how to use it, and synthesize any materials she needs."

The masked girl nodded. "Thanks. I'll do everything I can."

"Get to it." A few more seconds, and she was gone, following her robot guide. Robin wasted no time in moving on. "Cissie--I never showed you how to check credit card history, did I?"

She shook her head. "No, Robin. Sorry."

_Crap._ He did his best not to let his disappointment show on his face. "No problem. I'll do it when we get back, if Oracle's still offline. It may give us some idea of where all of them are. I would like you to go with Empress, though. We need to come up with something to keep Donny and Oshii distracted--I want to be able to discuss what's going on freely, and I'm not willing to do that with toddlers in the room. I think they're traumatized enough."

She nodded, looking grim. "Right." She hesitated for a moment. "Robin ... I ... I'm sorry I can't be more help." She eyed the bag of earpieces and looked away. Kid Flash was suddenly next to her, an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

He looked up from the monitor, meeting her eyes. _No need to go through all this again._ He forced a reassuring grin into place. "Don't be. No one's going to ask anything of you you're not ready to give." He smiled. "Now hurry, before those two realize Empress isn't coming back and start wailing." Greta shook her head, and the three shared a knowing grimace. The two of them together could shatter glass. Then Cissie was gone, a baby in either arm. Bonnie walked up to stand next to his parents and a very impatient looking Bart. He pressed another key, and the console beeped. _ Cray remote access online._ He started up the forgery suite. "It won't be long, Greta. Promise. Once I've forged the paperwork, all we have to do is walk in the hospital's front door."

She smiled at him, relief radiating off her. "Thank God." She looked around. "Where's Agent Maad?" she asked, keeping her tone level.

Bonnie smiled at her. "He said he was going to try to get through to work again, see if they knew what was going on."

"Figures ... someone actually evil attacks and he's clueless," Greta whispered, so quiet Robin sure Cissie's mother didn't hear. Behind them, Kid Flash scowled. Dana and his father saw this, and it only made them look more bewildered.

_Uh oh. Better head this off before we get into uncomfortable silence territory._ As much as he distrusted Maad, it would be useful to find out what A.P.E.S. knew. "Bonnie," he cut in, "I need your help. My ribs are a bit messed up." He un-clipped the lunchbox sized first aid kit from the suitcase. "I could use a little help cleaning it up, if you wouldn't mind."

Bonnie blushed. "What about Dr Thompkins?"

Robin's expression darkened, but it was Greta who spoke, her own face pained. "Those things really hurt Helen. She's probably still working on her. At least Kon's there with Cassie."

The Dark Squire nodded. "She's right. I trust you, Bonnie. You always kept Cissie in one piece." Dana looked at him strangely.

The woman took the kit from him, smiling wistfully. "I've gotta be honest, kid--I'm glad it's not her this time. Get that suit off so I can have a look."

His right hand never leaving the keyboard where he was busily setting parameters, he unclasped his cape and let it fall to the floor. Another three seconds, and the tunic and undershirt were over his head. The air stung when it hit the deep scratches on his chest, and the ache in his side intensified. He groaned before he could stop himself.

His father swore so hotly Greta's ears turned red, standing out sharply against her suddenly pale skin. She was chewing viciously on her lip, and looked like the wanted to wrap her arms around him, but Bonnie moved in with disinfectant pads and silently went to work, grimacing. Bart's eyebrows shot up and he frowned, fidgeting again. Dana muttered something suspiciously like "but it barely touched him" under her breath, and Robin had no choice but to glance down. _Yikes._

The cuts on his chest weren't too bad--he'd seen Catwoman do worse to Bruce when she was having a bad day--but they _would_ scar. His side was a mishmash of yellow, blue and black, dotted with abrasions. _Damn._ Cuts were easy enough to ignore once they were bandaged--they didn't hurt nearly as much out of the open air--but that kind of bruising and the unrelenting dull ache it brought to any kind of movement could become tiresome. He frowned and went back to typing. _Okay ... the hospital's under the authority of the Gotham County Mental Health System ... Arkham's hooked in to the same network. Need to get into the Asylum mainframe, spoof Dr Arkham's ID--he's got county-wide record access. Once I have the personal information I'll mock up some orders ... if I can forge the signatures and seals they shouldn't try to validate them until tomorrow morning ... enough time to get back here and feed fake authorization codes into the system. Doing it now would take too long..._ "Ouch!" _Damn turpentine._

He smelled his father's cologne as he knelt next to him. "Ti--Robin," he growled, angry or confused, maybe both. Dana was next to him, watching the two of them silently. Robin raised an eyebrow under his mask, but didn't look away from the screen. There wasn't time. "You mind if I ask you what you're doing? Dana and I ... are a bit confused." His voice was taut, every word sounding like an effort. Bonnie tore open a gauze packet.

The typing didn't stop. "Forging transfer orders for Greta's mother. We don't have time to go through normal channels. The longer she's there, the longer she and everyone else in the hospital are in danger. Once we have her medical records, Leslie can take care of her till this is over. Then we'll take her back, and the hospital will be none the wiser."

Dana gasped. "You can do that?" His father looked dumbfounded.

Bart smiled. "He's brilliant with computers. Wally said he heard Nightwing say he's better than Batman." Robin blushed.

Greta frowned. "Won't they wonder why she never gets to another hospital?"

Robin shook his head. "No worries. We'll mock up papers to send her to Greenhill. Everything there is done on computers. I'll trick their systems into thinking she's in an empty room and set her patient log up with a bot to show that she's visited by members of the staff, fed, and treated as necessary. She'll never show up on anybody's rounds, though, so nobody should notice. All the facilities in the county healthcare system run in sync--they only reconcile the patient in/out logs with employee schedules on Wednesday, so we're covered." _If this is still going on Wednesday, we'll have bigger problems._ Bonnie put the finishing touches on the tape on his chest bandage.

"Wait a sec," Bart said suddenly, "you're not just going to walk in there and get her, are you?"

"No," Robin smirked, "_we_ are. You need to get your scout, and I want you there in case we need to get Mrs. Hayes out in a hurry. See those brown packages? Grab one. It's an EMT suit with spray on hair dye, sandals, color contacts, accessories, everything. You read a bunch of books on disguising your voice, right?"

Bart grinned. "Yeah. Cissie says I sound like Marlon Brando. She likes it." Everybody in the room looked at him. "What?"

Greta smiled. "Nothing. I didn't realize she was into creepy old fat guys ... I'll have to ask her about that."

Robin shook his head and went back to typing. _Doesn't know Kermit the Frog but knows Brando. _"I'll do most of the talking. We're moving in fifteen minutes, tops." He saw Bonnie getting the rib tape out of the corner of his eye and scooted up in his chair. _This is going to hurt._

His father finally found his voice. "You're talking about fraud ... computer invasion ... _hell_, kidnapping! Do you have any idea how illegal what you're doing is?"

Robin's eyes narrowed to slits as Bonnie's hands stilled over his torso. _You've got to be kidding me._

"What's right isn't always legal ..." Greta said forcefully. Robin saw her eyes flash and grimaced. His father was an idiot.

"That's a convenient philosophy," Jack shot back. "I suppose my son taught you that?"

She shook her head. "Some things, I know from experience. _Everything_ Robin does is illegal, Mr. Drake. At least he always does the _right_ thing, no matter how much trouble it gets him in. I wonder if the _illegalness_ was bothering you when he was making sure you didn't get turned into hamburger meat."

"Jack," Dana hissed, "that's enough. This isn't helping anything."

"Not when everyone is so obviously biased," Jack muttered.

"You think I'm biased?" Greta raised her voice. "You're probably right. If it weren't for your son's willingness to help people even when the law said he shouldn't, I'd have been _murdered_, or worse. So yeah, maybe my views are a little skewed." She rose out of her seat, fists suddenly shaking at her sides. "And where do you get off complaining when it's _my_ mother out there in a padded room, so sick she doesn't know who I am half the time?" Jack's eyes widened. "I'm going to go now. Mommy is easily confused. I think it would be best for her if I fixed up a room here to look as much like hers as possible."

_Damn it, Dad!_ "Greta," he started to get up, almost surprised when Bonnie pushed him back down by his shoulders.

She was at the door. "Get my mother, Tim. Kid Flash--you keep them both in one piece for me."

The speedster started. "R-right. You got it, Greta."

"You, by the door," Robin hissed at a nearby robot, "prepare a guest room to her specifications."

"Thanks." She marched out of the room. For a moment, all was silent.

"Dad," Robin snarled, never looking away from his work, "would you care to explain why you think her mother deserves be eviscerated because I can't get a _legal_ transfer order?"

His father paled. "That's not what I--"

"Of course it isn't what you meant!" Robin yelled, head snapping around. "But that's sure what it sounded like, and Greta tends to take people at their word. I can't _believe_ you did that to her. Do you have any idea how terrified she is that I'll be bringing her mother back _in pieces_?" He took a deep breath. "Look, I get that you're confused and don't approve of any of this. Fine. You have a problem with me or the way I do things, you take it up with me. None of my friends deserve to get slammed, _especially_ her. As for what we're doing being illegal, I won't argue with you there--Batman and the rest of us are as effective as we are because we're above the law. But I _do_ know the limits. You're going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing, or at the very least, stay out of the way until this is over."

Jack stared at him a minute, then leaned back, pinching his nose. "Shit. I ... I'm sorry. I guess now really isn't the best time to be complaining about your methods."

"Tell her that," Robin turned back to the screen.

Bonnie went back to wrapping. "And I thought Cissie and I got into shouting matches."

"They've had worse," Dana scowled. "I can't believe that just happened."

_That makes two of us._ Robin forced himself to go back to work as Bonnie started wrapping his torso again. "Kid Flash, suit up. And try not to get the dye everywhere." The speedster disappeared, returning in his EMT costume before Robin could blink. _Alright. Focus._ _"Login successful. Welcome, Dr. Arkham." Now, let's access county records..._

* * *

"I still can't believe Batman has a fake ambulance." Kid Flash--or Ed, as his costume's nametag called him--shifted in the passenger seat, blinking now blue eyes. "I mean, I know he's supposed to be prepared for everything, but man, after a while it just gets _weird._"

Robin smirked. "We lucked out. We keep it emergencies--just in case one of us is knocked unconscious and taken to a civilian hospital and we need to get them out. It's usually not a good idea to evacuate injured people using jumplines." He frowned, glancing in the rearview mirror at his own green color contacts and blond hair, at the carefully applied fake whiskers. He remembered how dumbstruck his father had looked watching him put it on in one of the Fortress' many bathrooms. Dana and Bonnie just wished him luck. He didn't bother saying goodbye to Greta--she made it quite obvious she didn't expect to see either of them again until they had her mother. "Sort of like what we're doing now." He turned the ambulance off the freeway. "Five more minutes. You think we're doing the right thing, don't you? Breaking Mrs. Hayes out like this, I mean. I know it's sneaky and illegal, but ..."

The younger boy looked at him, eyes wide with confusion. "It's not fair just to leave her out in the open because she's sick. Not to her and not to Greta. We don't have time to get clearance, like you said. What kind of question is that?" He frowned. "Andwhyaren'twethereyet?"

He sighed. "I just needed to hear somebody else say it. And the hospital's out in the middle of nowhere ... there's no place to hide a Boom Tube vortex. I set us down in the closest spot I could think of."

Kid Flash suddenly looked at him. "This is about your dad. He got you rattled." Robin didn't say anything. "I can't believe what he said."

Robin snorted derisively. "I can. He found out about Robin and totally freaked out--you know, we never did discuss it. Not once. It was all 'I am your father, my word is law, and I won't listen to a thing you say because of how you lied to me.'" He looked away. "Yeah, I lied to him--I've never denied it--but he never even asked me why, never even let me explain. _He didn't want to hear it._ I never liked the lying. And he wondered how it could've happened--well, it's not like he was actually around when I was younger. There was always someplace more interesting to be. _Hell_, Bart, my first memory of Christmas morning is just me opening presents while the maid watches. I found something important to do with my life--he's acting like I became a drug lord! And I can't believe he would dare take his problems with me out on Greta. He's the one that told me you don't start fights with anything that moves when you're angry just because it's convenient. Batman didn't teach me everything I know." He felt the steering wheel creak between his fingers.

"Uh, Tim?" Kid Flash had scooted as close to the door as he could.  
"Yeah?" He turned the ambulance.

"Your nostrils are flaring, man." Kid Flash patted his shoulder. You want to calm down before you cream a little old lady or something? Though we are in an ambulance, so I guess--"

Robin took a deep breath. "I get the point. Sorry about that, Bart."

"You know," Bart mused, "I notice you were fine until he started going at it with Greta. That's what set you off, isn't it? You're used to him messing with you, not that I know how you put up with it." He blinked. "Going at it...I'm thinking I should rephrase that..."

"She doesn't deserve to get flak because my relationship with him sucks," Robin growled.

Bart shook his head, and grinned. "Nope, she doesn't. But she wasn't going to sit back and watch you get hammered, either. She cares about you too much. She always went ballistic when anything happened to you in Young Justice, and now you're, like, closer than you ever were before. If you two were switched back there, tell me you wouldn't have done the exact same thing."

Robin couldn't help staring at him. _Since when did you get so observant?_ He shook his head. "I could, but I'd be lying."

Bart smiled. "It's obvious how much you two care for each other. Watching you together is just so ... it's like ... I've never seen either of you so _at ease_ as when you're together. Greta's happier than ever and you ... you actually look like you aren't carrying the world on your shoulders every once in a while. You're both so comfortable and open with each other. It's really great, to know people that do what we do can be so happy."

The Urban Legend smiled before he could stop himself. "Thanks. It's nice to hear you say that. It's funny. I never meant to fall in love with her. She needed a friend, and I guess I did too, and we spent so much time together, just us--without capes or superpowers between us. I think we finally got to know each other in a way we never could when we worked together. I didn't have to be this _image_ and she didn't have to worry about whether or not she fit in. Next thing I know, just being friends doesn't feel like nearly enough, and the feeling's mutual. I'm really lucky."

"I think you both are," Bart said. He turned, watching the cars go by. "That's really sweet, man."

Robin caught the sadness in his eyes. Then it hit him. _Wait a second. Why's he talking like he doesn't have anybody? _"Hey ... is everything alright with you and Cissie?"

Bart's head snapped around in a blur. "What? Yeah. Everything's great." He frowned. "It's just ... if there was something, and I wanted advice about it, I could ask you when we had time, right? You'd be ... discreet?"

_Oh yeah. That's normal._ "Of course. If there's something you want to talk about now, we could--"

"_No._" Bart grinned, and straightened the cap over his massive hair. "We're here, and we've got a job to do." He paused. "Justdon'ttellCissie."

Robin nodded. _He's right. It's go time. I'll deal with this later ... whatever it is._ "You have my word. Now, here's the plan..."

* * *

Robin adjusted the dark glasses on his face--his old Alvin Drapier shades--and walked through the double glass doors into a foyer. Grey linoleum clashed violently with the plastic Fischer-Price like furniture. Bart hurried along next to him, a stretcher between them, looking around with wide eyes. "Whoa," he whispered, "I've never been to one of these before. Everything looks so ... sterile. And quiet."

"Yeah," Robin narrowed his eyes. "It's weird. Every other time I've been here, classical music was coming over the PA system. It's supposed to be soothing for the residents. Reception is just around the corner." _Where are the orderlies? Kind of eerie._ He shook his head. _They must run reduced shifts on Sundays_.

The reception area was empty save for a man sitting behind the desk, nose buried in a _Newsweek_. He looked early twenties, with brown eyes and long black hair. One of the wheels on the stretcher suddenly creaked, and the guy looked up, noticing them for the first time. He started, sending his magazine tumbling over the front of the faux-marble edifice. "H-hi. My name's Marvin." He sat up and smoothed out his shirt, no doubt trying to look professional. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He kept stealing glances down, as if trying to get a look at the _Newsweek._ He seemed not to notice the stretcher.

Robin stepped forward, clearing his throat. _Okay. Southern accent._ "I'm Barry, and this is my buddy Ed--he's kind of quiet. Pleasure to meet you. We're here for a pick up," he took the folder out from under his arm and slid it across the desk. "I've got orders for a Mrs. Ellen Hayes to be transferred to Greenhill. Looks like she got picked for some kind of new treatment trial. Lucky lady. Your supervisor in?"

Bart nodded. "We'll need copies of all her records, too."

Marvin gave them a strange look. "We don't do transfers on Sundays. Dr. Jackson is supposed to be present for these things..."

_It's never simple._ Bart threw him a sideways glance, and Robin wished again he'd had more experience with undercover operations. He looked nervous. _Too late to worry about that now._ He shrugged. "Hey man, I get where you're coming from. Ed and I don't do this on Sundays either. Apparently somebody called in sick--I was at a barbeque trying to convince my girlfriend's parents to like me." Marvin laughed.

Bart grinned. "Yeah, and I was on a picnic. There was this awesome grape salad--"

"_Anyway_," Robin interrupted, "we got the call and had to drive into dispatch 'cause their fax machine is busted and then all the way out here--some kind of expedited orders. She has to be there by tomorrow morning to start treatment, and they want her settled in tonight." He spun the folder around on the desk and opened it up, tapping a page. "The authorization and everything are right here. They told me to tell you not to worry if they don't show up in the computer yet--like you said, this stuff isn't set up to do things over the weekend. Everything should be updated by midnight. Sorry about the confusion. County computers are damn inflexible." _Come on. Buy it..._

Marvin shook his head. "Weird. I've never seen them do one this way before--and I've been here six months. But this all looks legit, and I'm a supervising orderly, so ..." He flipped through the pages, and Robin could tell from the look in his eyes he didn't have any idea what most of it meant. "Yeah. So I need to sign something, right?"

Robin pulled a pen out of his scrubs. _Six months and you don't know how to do a transfer form? Yeah right._ "Last page, where it says transferring institution representative. I get the yellow copy and you keep the white." _Something odd's going on here._ "Say, I've been to a lot of these places, and most of them are usually a bit ... busier. Is it nap time or something?"

Marvin signed the document with a flourish. "Nah. A few of our guys called in sick today. There aren't enough of us to safely let the loonies out to play. You know how it is--some of them are pretty strong when they get agitated."

A muscle twitched in Robin's jaw. Bart started to speak next to him, but a quick elbow to the gut silenced him. _We're not blowing cover 'cause of a slimeball._ "Yeah. I know what you mean. Didn't tie one down a couple weeks ago and nearly got rabbit kicked through a door." He smirked, reminding himself it was just an act. _At least for me._

Marvin shot him an understanding grin. "I'll start on those copies for you. It'll take a few minutes if you want to go ahead and get her. Room 302. Any idea when she's headed back?"

Bart shook his head. "We don't make the orders, we just deliver them."

_Careful, Bart._ "Yeah. Last thing I want is to spill coffee on some documents and smudge them up so bad my patient gets sent to the shock room or something." Okay, so picking the team member who had the most trouble keeping a secret identity probably wasn't a brilliant move for this particular mission, but Robin didn't have a lot of choice. _At least he's gotten better about not blabbing everything he thinks._

Marvin shook his head. "I know what you mean. It's a pity she's leaving, though." He started typing on the computer, presumably looking up Ellen's records.

"Oh, yeah?" Bart asked, trying to sound disinterested.

"Sure," Marvin smiled. "So many of the lady patients here are so screwed up you can't get near them without them trying to maul you. I see Ellen sometimes when they bring her into the atrium for sun. Real docile, you know? They've got her so doped up she'll do just about anything you say. Not too bad to look at, either."

His jaw slacked, and this time it was Bart who elbowed him. "Are you supposed to do that?" the speedster asked calmly. Behind his back, he was making a tight fist.

"It's just looking," Marvin shrugged. "It's not like it hurts anybody. You know?"

Robin's foot brushed the magazine and he bent over to pick it up--he needed a few seconds to look away and suppress the urge to knock the pervert's teeth out. Unfortunately, he got a better look at the publication, and his frown was painful. _Oh, man. Ew. Okay, Robin--remember why you're here._ Very quickly, he closed _Penthouse_'s May issue and slid it back into the last issue of Newsweek, rising and dropping both on the desk. "Yeah," he managed a fake smile, "I understand completely." Marvin looked at the magazines and paled. "We're on the clock here, man, and to be honest, I can't wait to get back to my girlfriend. We'll be back in five. You'll have her records ready by then, right?" _I'm not sure how much longer I can stand to look at you._

The orderly nodded quickly. "Yeah, sure."

"Cool." Robin took hold of the stretcher. "Come on, Ed. Let's go."

Bart nodded, scowling lightly. "Lead the way."

* * *

As the doors closed behind them, Robin pressed the button for the top floor, and the elevator lurched into motion.

"Hey, um, Barry," Kid Flash's frown cut lines in his face, "I don't know much about what sort of ... magazines ... are allowed at places like this, but was it just me, or was that guy--"

"A total creep?" Robin nodded, speaking through a clenched jaw. "The fact he has anything to do with taking care of Greta's mother makes my flesh crawl. And no, hospitals are supposed to have strict policies about professionalism. Employees are most certainly _not_ supposed to gawk at the patients, no matter how docile and suggestible they are." _Geeze. How'd that guy even get past the interview?_

Kid Flash shook his head. "We're having him fired, right?"

Robin raised an eyebrow. "When I'm done, he'll never be allowed to work anywhere near the mentally ill ever again."

The speedster's mouth fell into a line. "Good."

"Not really," Robin whispered hotly, "he's not the only thing off here. I've been here a few times before with Greta, always during visiting hours. The healthier patients were always out playing board games and walking through the garden and reading. Everything was clean, and there were orderlies and nurses and doctors everywhere. We've gone down three halls and only seen two very bored looking orderlies. Marvin's line about a bunch of people being out sick? That's bull. There are people here who need constant care. These sorts of facilities are required to be fully staffed at all times--they're supposed to reserve lists to keep this sort of thing from ever happening. And that sticky puddle you stepped in, I'm pretty sure it was urine. Something is _very_ wrong here." He pinched the bridge of his nose. _How the hell did we--I--miss something like this? I'm supposed to be a detective._

Bart looked at his shoes and made a sour face. "Aw, man. I thought something was weird. I've never been to one of these before, and I haven't read much about them, but I--" he looked up. "But it doesn't make any sense. How could they not get caught?"

Robin pressed the stop button. _We need to get this sorted out before she sees us. If we're bent out of shape when we go in, it won't be easy to get her to trust us._ "Simple," the Urban Legend growled, "visitors are only allowed once every two weeks, on Monday. I tried to help Greta find out if she could see her mother once a week. I was told they only do visits every fourteen days because the state doesn't give them that much money."

"Bull?" The speedster crossed his arms over his chest.

Robin nodded. "After what I just saw, I'm almost positive. Having fourteen days between visitations would give them plenty of time to make sure this place ... and the patients ... look presentable. Did you notice how freaked out Marvin was at first that we were here? I'm betting they clean up before transfers, too. This facility isn't receiving federal funding, and county oversight is hideous. If there is something going on here, it'd be easy enough to hide. At least he was too beside himself trying to hide his porn to try to tell us to come back later."

Bart's eyes widened. "You don't think, you know, they're _hurting_ the patients?"

Robin thought for a moment. "Abuse is a lot tougher to hide than neglect, but it'd be foolish to rule out either." He sighed. "I can't believe this." _Why didn't I notice something?_ The answer was simple. He was always uncomfortable when he was with Greta's mother. It was hard, seeing Greta try her best to deal with something that tore her up so much. It really wasn't a surprise that he might have missed any subtle clues.

"What now?" Bart whispered.

"We get her out," Robin shot back, "just like we planned. We get her somewhere safe. And when this is over, I'll personally figure out what's going on here. For all we know, it could just be sloppy management, and nothing deliberate."

"You believe that?" Robin hesitated, then shook his head. "I didn't think so." The speedster shuffled his big feet. "WhatdowetellGreta?"

The sensation that flashed through him then, it was like a pair of cold hands had closed around his heart. "I ... I don't know. She's doesn't trust doctors that much, not after--you know. She was even weary of Dr Thompson, at first. This isn't going to help. I'm going to talk to Leslie once we get back, have her do a full checkup, then we'll go from there. Gently. But until then, don't say a word."

Bart paled. "What? You mean, we're going to lie to her?"

Robin made a fist. "_No._ There's a difference between lying and withholding information. All we've got now is suspicions--saying anything now could do more harm than good. I want Leslie to look at her first, see if there's any evidence of abuse. In the meantime, we just focus on the fact she's safe. Oh, and let me handle it when it does come out." Bart started to object, but he held up a hand. "She's really comfortable with you, Bart. She's opened up to you before. If she decides to shoot the messenger," he looked at his shoes, "I want her to still have one of us."

"You got it," Bart said gravely. "It's not your fault, you know."

Robin resisted the sudden urge to glare. "What?"

"Whatever's going on here," the younger boy said, "isn't your fault."

"Maybe not," Robin shook his head, "but this is my city. What goes on here is my responsibility, especially when it concerns people I care about."

Kid Flash raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not going to argue with you, Robin. Just don't start acting like your partner, for Greta's sake."

Robin's own eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. "Was it really so long ago you were completely oblivious to this kind of stuff?"

Bart smirked. "You liked me better that way?" Robin returned the look, shaking his head. "I didn't think so. I probably give you fewer headaches now, at least."

_Not really_, Robin thought, pressing the hold button and sending them on their way.

* * *

Robin's feet came to an abrupt halt outside room 302. "Alright. We ready?"

"I got my scout," Kid Flash said nervously, "he didn't have anything to report. You know, I've never been around someone this sick before ..."

"Hey," Robin laid a hand on his shoulder, "relax. She's really nice. All we have to do is make her feel comfortable and safe. If she," _freaks out_, "has an anxiety attack or anything similar, the key is to keep her from hurting herself and calm her down, fast. Above all else, you and I have to act as calm and collected as possible. She'll pick up on how you're feeling."

"Great," Bart deadpanned. "Why'd you bring me again?"

"Ha. Let's go." He pushed open the door, and the two of them eased into the padded room, lit only by the light coming through a high window. There was a chair in the corner pointed at a television hanging out of reach on the ceiling, and a round table with a plastic vase made to look like blown glass full of thornless silk roses and rose scented potpourri. He was with Greta when she bought them--she had complained that the real flowers she got always wilted too fast. Ellen Hayes was curled on a bolted down cot, face to the wall, shoulders rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.

"She looks so peaceful," Bart whispered next to him. "Too bad we have to wake her up." He blinked. "Is she in a straight jacket? Aw, man..."

"Yeah," Robin said. "I'll do it." He moved forward as quietly as possible, kneeling next to her head. "Mrs. Hayes? It's time to wake up." She stirred slightly, and he raised his voice. "Mrs. Hayes? Can you hear me?" Again, she only stirred.

"Whoa," Bart whispered, "what kind of sedatives do they have her on?"

_I'm not sure I want to know._ He reached out a hand, rubbing the small of her back. "Wake up, Ellen."

She jolted suddenly, gasping, and he pulled his hand away quickly. "It's alright, ma'am. Everything's fine," he said soothingly.

She laboriously rolled herself over, and Robin wondered not for the first time if they really had to bind her arms so tightly. _I guess we'll find out._

"Wha--" she blinked up at them groggily, golden hair so much like her daughter's splayed over her face. "Who are you? Is ... is it time for my medication?"

He managed to keep his face neutral, and spoke slowly. "Not now, ma'am. My name is Barry, and this is my friend Ed. How are you feeling today?" He cupped one of her shoulders, gently helping her into a sitting position.

She yawned, giving them a vague, confused look. "Okay. Hello, Ed."

Bart smiled. "Hi."

_She even sounds like Greta._ "I'm glad you're feeling well," Robin said. "We're paramedics. Do you know what that means?"

She thought for a long moment, staring at the vase. Bart looked at him, mouthing 'Is she always like this?'

'Most of the time,' he mouthed back. The speedster looked at the ground.

"You're ambulance workers," she said, all at once, sounding confident. "But ... why are you here?" She frowned. "Am I sick? I heard one of the nurses saying something about someone getting food poisoning the other day. I didn't think the taco meat tasted right..." She still sounded slightly spacey, like she wasn't completely lucid.

_Of course she's not. It took her thirty seconds to remember what a paramedic was._ Robin did his best to smile warmly. "No, ma'am. You're fine." _Relatively._ _Okay. This is it._ "We're here because we need to move you for a few days." He held his breath. Next to him, Bart began to fiddle with his sunglasses.

She blinked at them. "They didn't need an ambulance last time I moved to another building. I don't understand."

"This is a little different," he shook his head. "We've been asked to move you to another facility. Just for a few days. They need to do some ... renovations." Her face darkened, and she stiffened, scooting away from him. _Uh oh._

"No. I can't go." The airiness was suddenly gone from her voice. Her eyes focused, and he realized he finally had her undivided attention.

_Lucky me._ He had to be careful now. As sick as she was, rationality and rage might not be that far apart. What he said next had to be cautious, non threatening, and--

"Why not?" Bart blurted, sounding nothing but curious. His sunglasses were off, and he looked at her with his large, innocent eyes. Robin sucked in a breath, but she relaxed suddenly.

"If I go," she said simply, the harshness gone from her voice, "if you take me far away from here, my daughter won't be able to come see me as often. Her boyfriend lives nearby ... he helps her get here. I ... sometimes, I know she's been here ... but I can't remember. But that's better ... than not seeing her at all."

Robin suddenly missed his mask, the ease at hiding emotions the opaque lenses provided. But he was a professional, or at least he tried to be, so he did everything he could to suppress the tears, not fully able to banish the stinging feeling from his eyes. Bart kneeled next to him and grasped his shoulder, that same earnest look on his face.

"Don't worry, ma'am," Bart smiled, "she'll still be able to come see you. The other hospital is in Gotham." He was far better at impromptu lying than Robin would have expected him to be. "We promise."

"Yeah," Robin said, "we'll personally make sure she knows where you are."

"It's in Gotham?" she asked. They nodded at her, and she looked like she was deep in thought. "And that's close to here?"

Bart looked at him, the calm on his face momentarily gone, then back at Ellen. "Y-yeah. Really, really close. And you can take all the stuff you have here."

"Okay," she said finally. "If I have to." She looked them over. "You're really nice boys. Most people just tell me what I'm supposed to do."

"We try to be," Robin grinned at her, thrilled when she returned the gesture.

"Do we have to go outside?" she asked. "It looks like a sunny day."

Robin carefully pushed the hair out of her face, and couldn't help wondering if this was what Greta would look like in fifteen years. "Does the sunlight hurt your eyes, ma'am?"

She nodded. "A little." She shook her head. "A pity, too. It's probably so pretty outside."

_Photosensitivity. What sort of meds do they have you on?_ "Why don't we raise the back of the gurney so you don't have to look straight up, then?" Robin made the adjustments. "That should be better. Ed, you want to help her over?"

"Right." Bart scooped her up--gently, Robin was pleased to see--and deposited her on the gurney, then raised the railing. She eyed the straps, frowning.

"We don't need those," Robin said.

"No, you don't," she grinned at him again. He doubted she could put up much of a struggle even if she wanted to--saying she looked like a concentration camp victim would have been an exaggeration, but not by much.

Bart looked at the glasses in his hands, then her. "Here." He eased them on her face. "I don't mind the light so much."

"Thanks, sweetie," she laid her head back on the pillow. A few seconds later, her head dropped to the side and she started to snore lightly.

"Uhm ... is she okay?" Bart asked, stepping back.

"It's the drugs," Robin said dourly. He grabbed the sheet near her exposed feet and pulled it up to her chest, laying her pale hands on top. "Let's get her things."

* * *

_Here we go again_, Robin thought as they materialized in one of Fortress' larger receiving bays, _thank God she stayed asleep._ Driving an ambulance through a boom tube was ... nerve wracking at best. At least he'd been able to have the Superboy temporarily lower the scrambling field so they didn't end up in the snow again.

"Well," he growled, "that was fun." He tapped his ear. "How's it going back there, Bart?"

_"I can't believe she slept through a Boom Tube."_

"We got lucky. Let's just hope she stays out for a few more minutes." Through the windshield, he saw the room's double doors open, admitting Leslie and Bonnie. "Stay where you are. I'll be right there." He killed the engine and opened his door.

"Welcome back, kid," Bonnie smiled. "Everything go well?"

_Not exactly._ "Fine. Kid Flash is in the back with her. She slept through almost everything." He handed Leslie a folder. "Her medical records." She opened the folder almost immediately, and he wasn't surprised when her eyes widened. There was no way she could have missed his handwritten note: _Suspect neglect and/or abuse. Will tell you more later._ _Would like you and Alfred to examine her and review files for evidence. Don't want to tell Greta until we know more._

She pressed the folder shut, schooling her face into a neutral expression. She wasn't quite as good at it as Alfred, but Bonnie didn't seem to notice anything. "Thanks. I'll look over these as soon as possible."

"Where's Greta? I thought she would be here," he frowned.

"She wanted to be," Bonnie said, "but decided it would be less confusing for her mother if she waited until we had her in her room. She just finished putting it together. I'm glad you're back--she's been shaking like my grandmother Elsie since you left." Leslie shot her a withering look.

_Hang on, beautiful. It won't be much longer._ "How's Mrs. Sandsmark? Superboy and Cassie still with her?" he asked, the Robin persona momentarily falling away.

The doctor shook her head, steel grey eyes heavy. "She's over the worst of the shock, even though she's still unconscious. There was a lot of dust and soot, so it probably looked worse than it is. There aren't any full-thickness burns, thank heavens, but--even with the technology available here, there's no getting around how much optic tissue was destroyed. A qualified surgeon will be able to rebuild her face, I'm sure, but she's completely blind." She exhaled, looking truly old for the first time Robin could remember. "I'm sorry. I've done all I can."

"Superboy and Cassie are still with her," Bonnie said, "and your English friend."

"You always do, Leslie," he looked away. "I ... I suspected as much when I saw her. I was hoping it was just retinal flash-burn, but ... I think I knew better. Can you take care of the burns here?"

She narrowed her eyes. "If they were any worse, I'd say no, but I can handle it. She's stable enough that I should be able to care for she and Mrs. Hayes, even considering the ... extra care ... these files indicate she may need," she gave Robin a stern look, "but if anyone else is seriously injured, I'm going to need help."

"Is it safe to take her to a regular hospital?" Bonnie asked.

"Not likely," Leslie hissed. "What's to keep whoever's doing this from swarming the place and murdering a few hundred people? Nothing I've heard makes me think they wouldn't. Robin was right to bring her here."

"Wonderful," Bonnie frowned, "and here I thought getting chased by drooling hellspawn was going to be the low point of the day. Thanks for reminding me I'm not safe outside this Ikea fort."

Robin scowled. _This just gets better and better._ "Leslie ... could you give me the name of someone you would trust to come here and help if we need them?"

She looked surprised. "You realize anyone who I picked would likely end up learning ... a lot of personal details."

The scowl deepened. "I trust you. If you vouch for them, that's more than good enough for me." _Bruce is gonna have me for lunch._

The older woman smirked at him, a hint of humor sparking in her grey eyes. "You're a lot more agreeable than your mentor, young man. Now why don't you help us unload Mrs. Hayes? I'm sure Greta would like to know her mother has arrived."

Robin smiled thinly. "I'm sure she will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if I can't get a better handle on what's going on. We've been on the defensive long enough." _And we've still gotta find Reddy and Snapper. At least they can take care of themselves ... I hope._

* * *

On the whole, Hal Jordan, Agent of God's Wrath, thought the Heavenly Court was just a _bit_ full of itself. It was the only way to explain the fact that things were all but literally going to hell on earth thanks to that Hayes bastard--had been for close to two hours now--and he was stuck in limbo waiting for instructions, expressly forbidden to act, or even return to the mortal plane, until further notice.

_Until further notice._ He stared at the formless void around him, aware that any normal mortal would've been driven insane in an instant if they saw it. At the moment, he technically didn't even have a corporeal form, and even after years of operating as the Spectre he found the sensation jarring, to say the least. _I wonder what people would do if they just how much things depended on bureaucracy up here. Pathetic._ As far as he could guess, there were only two reasons they could be keeping him out of the fight, and neither was too reassuring. Option one, they just wanted to let things run their course without divine intervention--unlikely, given how grim things were getting. That left the second, far more disturbing possibility. _They can't honestly ... but it may be the only way ..._

There was a blinding bright flash of light, and he was no longer alone. The angel was tall and lean, his wavy red hair and golden eyes almost seeming to glow. His mouth fell in a thin line, which, in Hal's experience in heavenly beings, meant near-panic. Hal raised an eyebrow, feeling a new dread. The being standing before him reported directly to Michael. _This won't be pleasant._ He pulled his green hood back and bowed his head. "Gaul. You called?"

The angel's near-scowl deepened. "You've been keeping up with ... events below?"

"Yes. Not that it's been easy, being stranded here. Why was I recalled? In case you haven't noticed, it's getting bad down there. People have been maimed. _People have died._ They haven't even figured out Tornado's dead yet. There's a little girl in the clutches of an unhinged demon. Tornado was a wind elemental. His death has already begun to create imbalance. I can feel it. Why aren't you letting me do anything?"

Gaul nodded, face expressionless as his voice. "A simple yes would've sufficed. There are a number of reasons you're being restrained. We're dealing with William Hayes. The boy is an escapee from Hell, Spectre. Your normal methods won't work--you can't injure the walking dead. The collateral damage should you try would be ... excessive. And you lack the power to send him once more into the Abyss. You know this."

_You don't have to rub it in._ Hal scowled. He didn't need to be reminded what sort of terror Harm was. He'd nearly cost his sister her very soul more than once. If not for Timothy Drake, he probably would've succeeded in turning her from the light. _A soul _I_ was supposed to be protecting her. I made so many mistakes..._ Then again, he shouldn't have expected being a mentor and the Spirit of Vengeance at the same time to be easy.

"What about the demon? I could incapacitate Pandellion with a thought."Even as he said the words, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

"No. You underestimate the importance of this conflict. Direct interference now would be equivalent to the Presence deciding to strike down Goliath to spare David the trouble. This battle is nothing short of a fork in the road of humanity's destiny. It is the next major test Timothy Drake and his friends must pass as they prepare to take their places as Earth's highest mortal champions. Should they fall, the balance will tip drastically from the Light. Earth will begin a slow, inevitable slide into a new medievalism."

Gaul's mouth turned down into an undeniable frown. "Nothing would please me more than Archangel Michael appearing in all his glory before William Hayes and dragging him back to Hell, but though he continues to make deals with demons, though he has managed to circumvent his own mortality, the boy is still human. He makes war on the mortal plane. This is a struggle mankind must face on its own, without our direct interference."

And there it was. Hal felt a flash--no, that was wrong--a _flood_ of anger surge through him. He knew the drill, but he still thought the whole thing repugnant. Good was locked in constant, eternal conflict with evil. It wasn't a matter of winning--one could not exist, or even be defined, without the other. Balance was key. A sustained tilt either way could create chaos. The war was fought by proxy, through those faithful to the side of light, and those who worshiped darker forces. Those who lived and fought in the light were granted entry to Heaven at the end of their mortal days. Those who didn't, those who sold their souls--or the souls of others--for power, would suffer eternal punishment for their evil. Not of His will, for He believed in forgiveness, but rather for the amusement of the dark beings who bartered in souls willingly turned from the Light.

"So," Hal growled, "what then? We watch from up here like generals while those kids get themselves killed? If you haven't noticed, _they need help_." He knew he was getting dangerously close to crossing a line, but sometimes the higher angels' detachment made him want to wretch.

"We must let them live or die by their own swords, but we may ... influence. We planned for this contingency, you remember. When the boy gained his powers, we saw to it he had an equal who would walk the path of the just. Unfortunately, Darkseid meddled with our plans."

Hal's hands fell into fists at his sides, his voice soaring as he spoke. "He _'meddled'_ with your plans? He and Harm almost completely destroyed the girl's soul. She died when she was eleven. You _resurrected her_ when by all rights she should've been allowed entry to Paradise, _took her memories_, gave her dominion over the wayward dead and enough power to take anyone short of ... well, me, if she put her mind to it, and turned her loose with no explanation. You didn't even tell her _why_ she was still on earth. She was abducted by a bunch of insane, fear-mongering, xenophobic monsters and tortured for _years_, and you did nothing. Then again, I guess telling her she was a living weapon wouldn't have gone over well, hmm? Please don't tell me all _that_ was all part of your plan. I'm just glad Timothy Drake was around to clean up our mess." _What a fool I was..._

Gaul sighed. "Mistakes were made, yes. I cannot overstate the gravity of our mishandling, but the fact remains, we have been without a warder far too long, and such power will be needed for final victory over this madman--"

Something in Hal snapped. "Then pick someone else! She's suffered enough! She's rebuilt her life, now. She's actually happy, and you want to wreck it again? Je--" he stopped himself, but didn't quell at the angel's glare.

His superior ignored the near-blasphemy. "We have. A replacement was chosen. We took more care with her. Protected her from ... dark influences. But ... it is a difficult thing, ferrying the dead, and in the end, she was not strong enough in the Light and had to be removed. No one corrupted her but herself. Greta was strong enough--her heart is steeped in justice even now--but we underestimated the difficulties she would face. We were not prepared to assist her in her time of need, and many paid the price for our failure. If not for Timothy Drake, things would be much worse than they are. Even now, they are stronger together than even they yet realize. Still, it is Greta's destiny to walk the path set out before her. Should she turn away, many more will suffer."

_So, that's it, then._ Before he died, Hal Jordan didn't really believe in Fate. Now he knew better, and the truth was far harsher, far more unforgiving, than any mortal imagined. "It seems you've decided. I'll ask you again. Why am I here?"

Gaul looked into the void. "It is her destiny to become a great and noble warder, but ... given the mistakes we made, all that has happened, the Presence desires to give her a choice. It is as much a test of her commitment to the Light as an opportunity for her step aside--I pray she does not, or we will have to keep going with inferior candidates who lack her experience. William would make short work of any of them. But Greta has tasted evil and found it wanting, and that is a rare thing. You're to tell her of the situation, make her the offer to become as she was, and convince her to accept."

Hal furrowed his brow. Gaul was right. Without a warder, taking out an undead genius with no obvious weaknesses would be near impossible, and more people than necessary would die in the attempt. He could probably convince her, if he could isolate her from Timothy. _No. I won't do this. We're not just fetching an old tool. We're taking apart someone's life. Again._ "Tell me the truth. Can they win without her?"

Gaul met his eyes. "Timothy will lead them as best he can. He will fight with everything he has, and they will follow his example. They may prolong the inevitable, by years, perhaps, but no mortal force can conquer the unholy thing William Hayes has become. If they fight him without her, they will fall. You are the only one of us she'll listen to. You _must_ convince her."

_You're the only one of us ... bingo._ "And there's your problem," Hal smiled thinly. "I'm the only one she'll listen to, and even I'll have trouble if Timothy interferes. But ... she has a life. She's happier now than she's been in years, just because she can touch the world again. She wakes up every morning and smiles just because she can taste the air. She's got her humanity back, and I'll not destroy that. I will not let you wreck her again in the name of the greater good just so you can have your immortal warrior back, but we _do_ need a warder. You need me for this, and I require some concessions."

Anger flashed in Gaul's eyes. "You're playing a dangerous game--"

"Oh, shut it. You wouldn't have called me if you didn't _need_ me. You people can't _stand_ the humanness in me, because I refuse to forsake individuals for the cosmic chessboard. I don't give a damn if you tack 300 more years onto my tenure as Spectre. I should've done this a long time ago; either you agree to my terms, or we watch the world burn. Your choice." _Batman isn't the only one who can make sweeping threats._

Gaul snarled. "You lack a sense of scale. Allowing her to keep her ties to the human world will complicate things."

"You lack a personality. Making it impossible for her to have any true contact with humanity sure didn't _simplify_ anything. Do we have a deal?" He was going to get burned for this in the end, but that was just fine. Greta'd been burned enough for all of them. It was time someone else took the heat.

"You leave me little choice. State your terms."

Hal Jordan grinned. "If you insist."


	9. The No Name All Stars

A/N: Please see previous chapter notes for details. Thanks to VirtualFaerie for beta reading, and Brown Betty and Vincent Hales for various bits of canon help. All feedback welcome and appreciated.

_Why does my bedroom smell like the zoo?_

Traya groaned as she slipped into consciousness. Her eyes wouldn't open. Her arms were flung up over her head and terribly stiff, her legs going the opposite direction, just as unmoving. Had she turned so she was lying with her head and feet off the cushion again? It made sense—she could barely feel the bed under her. Last time she'd fallen off and cracked her knee on the bedpost.

Maybe she'd already banged it on something—her legs were really achy. Actually, everything hurt. She tried to open her eyes again, without success (_Crusty eye boogers?_), she really couldn't remember falling asleep in a funny position, but as the mists slowly receded from her mind, she realized she couldn't remember falling asleep at all. _Wha— ?_ A sharp breeze carrying more of the zoo-smell smacked her in the lower back, cold against her skin, and she had to wonder why she had gone to sleep without a top. She never did that; Mommy always said it was immodest—the breeze shifted up suddenly and slammed across her shoulders.

She wasn't expecting the burning, stinging agony that broke across her back, and she screamed as the last vestiges of fog cooked away from her mind and she remembered everything. Her surprise reward and the cool magician and the explosions that Daddy had to stop and the (_terrible, horrible, evil)_ person that was supposed to be a security guard and look after her and—she shook violently and strained, trying with everything she could to open her eyes, but that only made things hurt worse—"_Mommy!_" Somewhere above her, something shrieked softly.

The rough feeling around her wrists … it was a thin rope, sort of like fishing line, but thicker. Her shoulders burned and she couldn't feel her fingers anymore. She took a deep breath, and tried to fight off the fear closing around her heart again. She imagined her parents, and the Titans, all telling her to be brave and to just wait, because help was coming soon (_It has to be._) and that helped. A little.

Slow clapping, then a throaty laugh that ground her brain to a cold halt. "It's about time you woke up, hon. I was beginning to wonder if I'd hit you in the head too many times. And feeling hope, too. Good for you."

_Demon-lady. _She felt bile rush up her throat. A clammy hand slid through her hair and the next thing she knew the blindfold was off, her left eye cracking open out of reflex. But there was something wrong with her right, it felt too big somehow—her mind flashed back to the day her classmates had attacked her, had held her down and kicked her in the face until Superboy scared them away. _Swollen shut. She hit me._ She took another deep breath and willed herself not to panic like before. Her Daddy would come, and everything would be fine. "_You have to be brave…"_ She wouldn't disappoint her father. Not now. Not ever.

The place was dark and looked like the reptile room at the San Francisco Zoo, sort of. Robin had taken her there a few months ago to get some pictures for a report she was doing on giant lizards. But this place was bigger—she couldn't even see the far wall for all the shadows—and there was nothing but rocks and stalactites as far as she could see. Little globby piles were on the floor that looked kind of like dog poo, but smaller, and the only light came from a few bare lamps strung across the rocky ceiling. She tried turning her head to look around (and away from the demon-woman-thing, who just stood there grinning and made her want to scream), but her neck hurt too much. She managed to look down, and saw that another rope had been tied around her ankles. A huge metal thing that looked kind of like a _Loony Toons_ anvil was hanging at the end.

The she-devil didn't say anything, but started picking at her fingernails. Her pale skin was covered in something shiny and wet. The wind shifted the lamps again and she got a better look. It was red. And there was so much. _Blood._ She thought of the way her body hurt, all the stinging places that felt like cuts and gashes and the salty taste in her mouth that she normally associated with an impending visit from the tooth fairy and extra money to go sifting through the Hastings bargain bin. The monster had beaten her—and there was no mistaking the look in her eyes: it was all for fun. Still, she couldn't look away, even as the bile tried once more to breach her lips.

"That's mine." Traya hadn't meant to speak, and barely recognized her own voice, so distant and scratchy and small.

The woman-thing raised an eyebrow. "So it is. You can have it back now, doll." She stepped forward with a grin and started running her hands all over Traya's face and neck and stringing her fingers through her hair. "Thanks for sharing. You're a really nice punching bag, you know?" Traya lurched and jerked away. The woman-thing frowned. "What? You've already pissed all over yourself. You gonna hurl now, sugarpie?"

Something snapped in Traya's brain. "_You have to be brave…"_ She wasn't going to let the monster win. Concentrating hard, she swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed until the throw-up feeling went away, and tried to push the emotion off her face, the way Robin and his big brother Nightwing had taught her when it was raining out and they were all really bored. "No." She tried to intensify the glare, but that only made her eye hurt. "My Daddy and my friends will come, and then … then _you're gonna get it!_" She screamed the last bit and it left her feeling drained and more scared than before—would she get beaten again for screaming? Daddy and Robin said never to antagonize any bad people she was around because it could exa … exac … make things worse. _Why can't I remember that word?_

The monster-woman thought about this for a moment. "You know, you're right. They're gonna come for you eventually, once they figure out where I've stashed you. And I probably shouldn't be around if I wanna, you know, keep breathing." She laughed. "But, I'm a responsible adult, you know," she kicked Traya in the stomach as if making a point, and the girl whimpered and sobbed as she was thrown back into a stalactite like a tetherball, feeling something in her back crack painfully, "I can't just leave you alone." She pulled something from her pocket that sort of looked like the remote for Mommy's car alarm. "I'll just arrange for you to have some company until your precious _friends_ find you."

She pressed a button and put the little device on the ground. "It takes a bit to warm up. Oh!" She pulled what looked like swimmer's goggles out of another pocket and started sliding them over Traya's head. She decided it would be better not to struggle. She didn't want to get hit again. She had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering when one of the lenses went over her swollen eye. "You'll need these. Your new friends will be a bit … clingy. Have fun."

She put the little remote down on a rock and, with a flash of light that left Traya momentarily blind, the woman-thing disappeared. It took her a few seconds to realize she was alone, and the horrible, wicked lady wasn't going to hurt her anymore. She suddenly realized she was sobbing, but didn't really understand why. She was happy—the monster was _gone_, and she wasn't coming back because she was _afraid of Daddy and the others_. All she had to do was wait, however uncomfortably, for Daddy or the Titans to show up, and everything would be fine. They were probably already looking for her, and when they found her, her parents would hold her and make the hurting stop.

And she was brave. For minutes that felt like hours she closed her eyes and breathed in deep calming breaths like Miss Raven had shown her after she'd gotten tired of watching Robin and Nightwing make scary faces (because really, she couldn't see how anybody could think they were mean), and thought of the wonderful smells the flowers that Miss Koriand'r had given her for her birthday made—she almost managed to completely ignore the zoo odor. She thought about how much fun she was going to have with Bart playing with his new Playtendo Evolution.

Traya thought of these things and knew she could keep it together until help came, because it all had to get better eventually. Then she hard the little remote beep, and the ceiling came alive with a deafening shrieking ten thousand times more horrible than the worse set of fingernails on chalkboard. An angry black cloud enveloped her, clawing and scratching and _ohGodithurtsmakeitstopplease._

She was screaming again, but she couldn't hear. They were tearing at her arms and legs, clawing at her face and exposed back—they were everywhere. She had tried to be brave, really, really tried, but in the end she felt herself going under again.

Daddy…

* * *

Robin adjusted his belt as he emerged from the bathroom in a fresh, fully armored suit, and shook the moisture from his hair. He really hadn't had time for the impromptu wash, but that dye must've been too old or something—by the time he had finished helping unload Greta's mother, it felt like an ant colony had invaded his scalp. He sighed. _Itchy hair is really the least of my problems._

He adjusted the extra weapons he'd strapped to his back. It was reassuring to finally be carrying all his equipment; he wasn't likely to run out of smoke bombs or flashbangs (or anything else) next time he had to go up against the killer bug army. He was trying to get a batarang to stop poking him when he rounded the corner and a short, blonde, strawberry-and-chocolate scented missile plowed into his chest. He had just enough time to throw a leg back to keep from toppling before Greta all but leapt onto his neck, nailing him with a quick kiss before dropping to the floor. He blinked, not bothering to stop the slow smile blossoming across his face. "Uh … hi." So she wasn't mad at him anymore, if she ever had been. _Excellent._

"Hey," she half-whispered, returning his smile. She certainly looked a lot calmer than she had when he left; the half-wild panic hovering just under the surface of her blue eyes was all but gone.

_That's a good sign._ "So," he ventured, "she's settled in okay?"

Her head bobbed, relief coloring her voice. "Yeah. Bonnie said she woke up for a bit right after you and Bart left to change, but she's sleeping again and seems to be fine just fine. Still, Dr Leslie said she's going to give her a quick checkup in a little bit to make sure traveling through the boom tube didn't bother her. She's … still focusing on Helen." She cringed. "I asked one of the robots to set it up so I could see the room on one of the monitors if I wanted, and I've been—she looks really peaceful."

He pushed thoughts of his failure to save Helen away. _Glad Leslie's taking the subtle approach to Mrs. Hayes._ "I'm glad she's comfortable." _Wait a second._ "You haven't seen her yet?"

Greta's smile was suddenly sadder. "I … I wanted to, but I thought if I just showed up she might get confused. Her sense of time isn't … right … anymore, but she counts the days between our visits. E-even," her hands found Robin's, "if she doesn't always remember who it is that's coming to see her." Her smile brightened a little. "I figured, though, since she knows she's at a different place, if I wait a bit and let her settle in then I can show up and surprise her and say the rules are different. A few hours will be enough. Besides, now that I know she's safe, I can focus on helping with this … this mess."

It was a painful display whenever she talked about her mother, pain and affection and love and worry and more than a touch of repressed anger all mingled on that part of her face just around her eyes, even as she kept her mouth and chin under perfect control. She had told him once she was more than eager to avoid her mother sometimes, when she didn't feel up to walking in and finding out whether or not Ellen Hayes would recognize her, think she had a new nurse, or start screaming that there was a ghost in her room until the orderlies burst in and sedated her no matter how much Greta begged them not to.

If she felt like she wasn't up to that right now, he certainly wouldn't (and couldn't) criticize. Still, there was a detached part of him that mused on what kind of people they had turned out to be, that dealing with a psychotic murderer trying to kill them all was the more appealing option. "I think I understand," he said gently. "Did I miss anything else while I was gone? I don't suppose anybody else's shown up?" The sentence ended with more nervous hope than he would have let himself show around anyone else.

She shook her head and took his hand again as they started walking back towards the control room. She was moving deliberately slow, which meant there was something she still wanted to say, in private. "No, but Raven called in. She said she's gotten through most of the rubble, but it looks like Garfield and Victor are somewhere in the sewer system. She's still tracking them, but it shouldn't be much longer. Anita's still locked up in one of the spare rooms. We still haven't heard from Snapper or Reddy," she finished worriedly.

He frowned. _Gotta take the good with the bad, I guess._ "It's a start. Anything else? You look like you have something on your mind. Aside from the megalomaniac roach king." He scowled.

"Well," apparently she was used to his stormier expressions now; his latest didn't really seem to faze her. She stopped and pulled him into a small recessed alcove overlooking some random glacier. "I think we have a problem." An almost bemused look came over her face before she shook her head. "Another problem."

"Oh?" Robin forced the frown away.

"Well, the Kents and Bonnie and Agent Maad and your parents are all sort of milling around in there, and they're kind of talking to each other, but no one's really _saying_ anything. It's like … like …" Her face brightened. "It reminds me of when you started bringing me around the Manor. I remember how weird everybody acted at first. No one was sure how much I knew and how much Batman wanted them to say."

Robin smiled slightly. It was amazing how far and how fast Bruce had let her in and he still didn't rightly understand it, though he suspected the man didn't want a repeat of the estrangement after Dick began seeing Kory the first time. Not if all the _You could be as good as me one day, Robin_, hints were going where he thought they were. But it had still been very awkward, at first. He and Cass still teased Dick over, as Alfred called it, The Curious Incident of the Ice Cream and the Speedo in the Night Time. Dick still labeled all the brown paper bags in his possession with his name in big black letters.

But the mirth was gone almost as soon as it had come. He'd expected this, but hoped he would have more time before he had to deal with it. He sighed. "I figured this would happen. Just not so soon. Batman, Nightwing and I may take the most heat for it, but we all keep secrets. The Kents aren't going to say anything that might give away Kon, Bonnie and Ishido will do their best to keep Cissie's past murky, and so on. No one knows how much they can trust anybody else, aside from the basics: we're all on the same side and we watch out for each other. Everything else is off-limits. It's supposed to protect us and keep anybody from learning something that might put someone we care about in danger."

Greta scoffed, rubbing one shoe against the other. "That's not working anymore, Tim."

"No," he shook his head. "But the protocols," he cringed at the word, but it was already out of his mouth, "are still in place, everybody's following them like always. No one in that room is going to trust anybody when we're not around, not really. The situation we're in, that doesn't work at all." _This comes down like I think it will, they don't trust one another, they die._

She nodded, looking like she agreed with him. "So, what do we do?"

His frown bordered on painful. "We'll have to talk it over with the others but … There's some nutjob out there that probably knows everything about us down to the fact that I still sleep with a Crocky plushie next to my bed," that got a small smile out of her, and he allowed himself a small mental pat, "and if we're gonna win this," he reached up, decision made, and peeled the mask away from his eyes, "we have to make sure the meglomaniac of the week can't use our own secrets against us any more than he already has."

She looked at the mask in his hands, her own scowl matching his nicely. "I … honestly, I was hoping we'd get to open up to them eventually. Remembering whose parents know what and how much I'm not allowed to say when, it …" she trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow. "Sucks?"

A small grin came back to her face. "I was looking for something more profound, but, yeah. The timing could've been better, but if this means nobody has to hide behind their masks when we're with our friends, I guess I can find the silver lining. Mostly." Her face suddenly grew stormy again. "It's just that—I mean, I know he knew about me and Cissie already at least, and probably pieced together more on the others and you than I'd like to think about, but this'll be making it real…"

"Agent Maad." The words didn't exactly roll off his tongue like a curse, but he made no attempt to disguise his displeasure. "Like you said, he already knows more than I wish he did. But we need his help, as much as I hate to admit it. The devil you know."

She screwed her face up, as if trying to remember something, then frowned. "What?"

He glared hard out the porthole-type window. "It's an old saying. Used to hear Dad use it talking about some of his more unsavory business associates. When your back's to the wall and you can't find enough people in purely white hats, sometimes you have to stand with someone you consider to be the lesser threat, because temporarily at least, you have the same goals--usually, not getting squished. That's how it is with Batman and Oswald Cobblepot, most of the time. Bruce doesn't lean on the bird _too_ hard, and Penguin feeds him information." The scowl was back. He'd never liked the whole Batman/Cobblepot arrangement on principle, and here he was about to set up something _more_ dangerous.

Greta still looked dubious. "So, you trust him now?"

He shook his head. It was a loaded question, but certainly fair: he said he didn't trust the man and meant it, and now he wanted to let him in. Greta had accepted that her old black-and-white view of the world was insufficient, but he knew this was bordering on too grey. _Have to phrase this just right._ "Ishido Maad won't have my trust until he's earned it. He knows it and I know it. But for now … I know he loves Anita as if she were his own. No, I don't know that he wouldn't turn on us someday if ordered, but I trust that he'd do anything, even die, to protect his niece. I'm going to give him the opportunity to help her, and the rest of us, and maybe take a step towards convincing me he doesn't have some kind of ulterior motive."

There was a hard look in her eyes, but her voice still bubbled with worry. "What if he really _isn't_ on our side?"

The mask went back on, and his voice dropped until it was just above a growl. "I'm going to make it very clear that he shouldn't pretend to be, not for one more minute."

Greta nodded, not looking at all bothered by his veiled threat. "Now?"

"Find the Titans and the others. Try to get Cassandra out of the medical wing if you can—blame it on me if you have to—and pull Anita out of what she's doing. There's a small room off the main hall. I'll meet you all there. I want us in agreement on this. If everybody agrees," _I have to make them agree_, "we drop the masks." Memories of Batman revealing his identity to Spoiler without his consent rushed up suddenly, but he pushed them away. _So not the time._ He wrapped his arms around her, they both moved into the kiss like reflex.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Greta breathed in his ear. "I shouldn't have gone off on your Dad like that. I just didn't like seeing him treat you so—"

"I know," he said huskily, her scent beginning to do interesting things to his brain. "I'm sorry you got caught in the blast radius. Next time we go at each other I'll make sure we're in private." He forced himself away before his mind could have a chance to halt, and grinned. "More of that later, beautiful." She nodded, cheeks flushed and eyes suddenly serious.

She was at the door before she turned back to look at him. "I just thought of something. Batman'll be _pissed_ when he finds out about this."

"And you think you don't know him very well." Robin smiled bitterly. _He can't be angry at us if we're dead._ "Don't worry. When he comes back, I'll take the heat. He'll still speak to you. Promise."

She tried to keep the relief from flashing in her eyes, but he caught it anyway, and wondered if Bruce knew how important he was to her. _Who am I kidding? Of course not._

* * *

Robin found Agent Ishido Maad glaring at a handheld communications device disguised as a Motorola flip phone. From the expression on his face, it was obvious he either hadn't been able to get through, or hadn't liked what he'd heard. From the way he was muttering, the Urban Legend leaned towards the latter. After watching him for another half minute, the vigilante melted out of the shadows and slid across the room on silent feet. "Still no luck?"

Ishido jumped half a foot before whirling to face him. Robin kept his face neutral. "I work for idiots," he growled.

"I agree," Robin returned flatly. "What specifically are they being idiots about now?" _Maybe I should just get to the point and ask if we're gonna have to fight them, too._

The man scowled at his reflection in his chrome-plated pistol. "Well, for now, not that you would've liked it anyway, don't expect any help from the government. As far as they're concerned, whatever's going on is a private little war between you and the Lord of the Flying Roaches. They don't like admitting it, but they know how good you and your friends are. They figure you'll work out what's going on soon enough."

Robin noted the disgusted look on the agent's face, and matched it. _Interesting. What's really going on in your head?_ "So they plan for us to find the guy and kill each other off. And you?"

Ishido chuckled darkly. "You catch on fast, kid. Keeps them clean and gets rid of two problems at once. As for me, I've been ordered to observe and do what I can to make sure you don't lose. Which is fine, as it basically means they'll leave me alone until this blows over. Still," he shook his head, "it's all bullshit. They're more interested in wrenching some kind of advantage out of all this then actually stopping it, if you want to know my opinion. Nobody even seems to be giving that much thought to the collateral damage, and it's not just because inter-agency communication is still mostly shot to hell."

Robin's stomach tightened, his mind flashing back to Bart rambling about somebody hitting S.T.A.R. Labs facilities. Somehow, he knew Ishido would find out just how big a hit they took. A dull, cold anger welled up in him at the government's callousness. He couldn't really muster Ishido's indignation, though—that would've required surprise. "What sort of collateral damage?"

Ishido looked over at him, surprise etched on his features. "You mean you didn't know? I figured you'd have managed to talk to your Oracle by now." Robin narrowed his eyes. "Damn. So I get to tell you? Joy." He shook his head. "Looks like they hit all the JLA's teleporter hubs—the public ones at least. We've got firsthand accounts—there's nothing left but rubble in most places. The major media networks are running with it."

Robin forced the nausea away. He couldn't afford to be debilitated by grief, not yet. "Casualties?" he growled.

"No official numbers yet, but … the attacks apparently started at 2:30 on the dot and ended about five to ten minutes later. No warning. Buildings are rubble. At least one confirmed dead in Metropolis, and another's in the hospital. The numbers are going to suck."

"Yeah." _How many more lives will this bastard rip apart just to jerk us around?_

Ishido turned to look at him. "But that's not why you tracked me down, is it kid?"

Robin shook himself, refocusing on the task at hand. _One thing at a time._ "No, it isn't. Things are getting a bit tense in the main room." He sighed. "To make it simple, the web of secrets and half-truths we've been operating under was designed to help keep something like this from happening. Now that we're in the thick of it, it doesn't make a lot of sense. Whoever's doing this knows exactly where we are, and there's going to come a time when those people in there will have to defend themselves while the rest of us go off to fight. It's hard to fight at someone's side when you don't really know a thing about them, not even what their face looks like. I know from experience."

Ishido's eyes widened a fraction, and Robin knew he had his undivided attention. "You're taking the masks off. Won't Batman, I don't know, _flay_ you or something for breaking his golden rule?"

Robin shook his head, almost bemused. Bruce had really done a marvelous job of convincing people he valued secrecy over human life. Somehow, Robin didn't think he'd be pleased. He _hoped_ he wouldn't. "The mechanics of the game have changed, and I won't lose anybody just because I was too stubborn to adjust. I have to talk it over with the others first, but that's the plan. You have a choice to make."

"Red pill or blue?" There was a hint of a smirk on his face, but his voice was completely serious, and oddly strained.

_Didn't figure you for conspiracy movies._ "That's one way of putting it. I figured you and I needed to have a word in private."

Ishido nodded, turning to look at him. "That's probably a good idea. I'll save you some time, kid: I know you don't trust me. Believe it or not, I actually get it. You want me to get lost, just say the word."

Robin narrowed his eyes. He hadn't expected the agent to be so … easygoing … about this. _Fair enough._ "You're right. There's a part of me that would love to tell you to get out. But that would be wrong. They're after you too." He folded his arms. "No, I don't trust you, but I know how much you care about Anita and Bonnie, and I … we need all the help we can get."

He let an edge creep into his voice. It was time to lay all his cards on the table. "So here's my offer. I know you'd never betray Anita, and to be honest, you already know more than I wish you did about the rest of us. But no one's showed up at Greta's or my place and tried to haul us off, so I'm thinking maybe you were being honest when you said you weren't out to stab us in the back. I'm not Batman: I'm willing to give you a chance to earn my trust."

Ishido nodded, face betraying just the slightest bit of shock. "If you really want to be a full part of this, all of it, from here on out, you're welcome to show up in that room. You set foot in there, and I'll assume you're ready to keep our secrets, to protect my friends and family from anyone and anything, no matter if it's draped in Deathstroke's colors or the American flag, and die for them if you have to. No more than I ask of myself. If you don't think you can do that, I'll understand that too, and things will go on as they are." Robin put out his hand.

"It's your decision, Agent Maad." Robin hadn't said it directly to Greta, or anyone else, but he had a pretty good idea of what sort of hell would be rained down on the Fortress once the Titans left for the final battle. He could make their defenses work in either case, but he had been hoping he'd be able to entrust his parents and the others to Ishido—the man was the best A.P.E.S. had.

He could feel the calluses on the man's palms and fingers even through the gloves. "Honestly, I didn't ever think we'd be having this sort of conversation, but, I'm in."

"Good to hear," Robin said, his voice losing its edge. The nervous look on Ishido's face was a bit confusing. The man's apparent enthusiasm left him regretting what had to come next, but it was a necessity. Just as their hands began to break apart, Robin swept forward and tightened his grip, finding several particularly painful pressure points with his fingers. Pain flashed in Ishido's eyes, but all he did was raise an eyebrow. "But I need to make one thing clear," he said conversationally, sliding a carefully composed, thin smile onto his face. "If it turns out you show up in that room, and I end up assuming incorrectly about your intentions, you'd better make sure I don't live very long."

Ishido looked stunned for all of a half-second, then the oddest emotion sprang onto his face—relief. Robin must've let some bit of confusion flash on his face, or maybe the agent was just more empathetic than he gave him credit for. "Heard and understood, kid," it was strange, the way Ishido could call him kid without sounding at all disrespectful. "To be honest, if you hadn't thrown that last bit in, especially where your girl's concerned, I'd think you'd taken too many knocks to the head." He cleared his throat, and smirked. "So, where do we go from here?"

Robin turned on his heel, and they began walking back the way he'd come. "Much as I want to concentrate on other things, I need to try to calm those people down before things get out of control. Most of them have their foot through the looking glass. It's time to bring them the rest of the way." Only when he and Ishido split up, the older man going into the main room while he swept into the smaller, did he realize he was thinking in terms the Mad Hatter would approve of. Maybe he _had_ been hit on the head too many times.

* * *

Robin let his cape fall around him like a cloak as he entered the small room, immediately taking in the state of his friends. Cissie and Greta were off in one corner with Anita, fussing over the Voodun's nasty-looking nosebleed. _What happened there?_ Bart was pacing at one end of the room, so fast all Robin could make out was a pair of afterimages at either corner. Cassie, her abdomen bandaged tightly, stood staring out a window. Robin caught her reflection in the glass, and it took everything he had not to flinch at the torrent of emotion in her eyes. Then his eyes fell on Kon, standing next to his girlfriend and looking like he was trying to be comforting without being overbearing and didn't feel he was doing a good job at either, and he blinked.

The costume was modeled after Superman's, with some slight variations. Maroon gloves, for starters, with burnished golden buckles across the forearms, and matching cape. A belt with pouches and other compartments was slung over his hips. The body suit was a dark navy blue, almost black, and seemed to be a bit stiff in certain spots… "Body armor?" It wasn't the first thing he meant to say, but he supposed it was as good as anything else.

Kon jumped slightly, apparently too absorbed in watching Cassie to notice his entrance. Greta stopped fussing over Anita long enough to toss Robin a questioning look. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod, but kept his attention on Kon.

"My clothes were shredded," the half-Kryptonian said. "I asked the robots for something that would offer some added protection against Kryptonite projectiles." He frowned. "I drew the line at the helmet they cooked up."

Robin nodded. "It suits you. Anita? You okay?"

She scowled through her tissue. "I got in touch with my loa, like you asked. Whoever's doing this … I could feel their evil like I'd been dipped in it. Horrible wickedness. Felt … unbalanced. But when I tried to track the others, I—something powerful was on the other end, mon. Not only did it shut me out, but next thing I knew I was getting thrown face first into the wall. Just a little harder and I'd be pestering the Titans to pay for a nose job." She began swearing softly in a language that sounded suspiciously like Cajun French. "Sorry." She took a fresh tissue from Greta and pressed it to her nostrils.

"Don't apologize," Robin said. "You did your best. Besides, now we know more than we did: our enemies have advanced knowledge of the occult and mysticism; from what I understand, it's not easy to block communication between a Voodun and her personal loa."

"Damn right it's not," Anita mumbled.

Kid Flash cleared his throat, thumbs blurring as he twiddled. "Greta filled us in. I … I think it's a good idea. I never really understood why we had to keep them all in the dark about everything, anyway. It's not like Joan or Jay don't understand secret identities."

Of course, Bart would jump at the chance to not need to hide as much. Greta cleared her throat. "I figured it would save time if I told them," she said, a bit uncertainly.

He grinned at her briefly, and the doubt retreated from her face. "Good idea, beautiful." She beamed at him with tired eyes. "And you know there was a good reason, Bart. At least from certain people's points of view. But those reasons are moot now."

"My identity's already public," Wonder Girl said, her voice distant, "My mom's been keeping Kon's secret since we started dating. I'm sure … I'm sure she'll be willing to keep a few more." She sniffled, then swept her gaze over the room, her suddenly hard eyes daring anybody to call her on it. When no one did, she stepped towards Kon and let him put an arm around her. "I'm with you, Robin."

Robin nodded, his face not betraying his doubts. It wasn't that he doubted her words, but the look in her eyes—he'd seen it before, on Bruce, on Dick, in the mirror. It was the look of someone who was trying to repress absolutely everything so they didn't have to deal. _She's too emotional to pull it off. When she snaps…_ He added another entry to the ever-growing list of problems he was keeping in his head. _Not like I can blame her for being human. Damn._ "Kon?"

"Bart's right." He smirked. "Never thought I'd say that out loud." Bart grumbled from his spot, but returned Kon's smirk just the same. "I'm pretty sure Ma and Pa can handle a few more secret identities."

Anita frowned. "Robin … Tim … I'd vouch for my uncle, he really has his heart in the right place, but …"

Robin held up a hand. "It's alright. I just had a talk with him, and outlined the situation. If he's standing in that room when we go back, he's in." The looks of disbelief that swept the room were almost comical. "We need him." More reluctant nods.

He saw Greta's face harden for a moment, and managed to read the words she mouthed. _I hope you know what you're doing, Tim._

She'd asked him to teach her sign language after a terminally bashful mute had transferred to St. Elias, determined to make sure the newcomer had at least one fellow student she could communicate with, especially since somebody kept swiping all her notepads. He'd been more than happy to oblige, never really surprised that Greta had inadvertently become the leader of the school's social misfits. He'd even thrown in Batman's abbreviated hand signal scheme for their own personal use, since she was picking things up so well, and it was one of these, a jerky, two-fingered wiggle—_agreed_—that he flashed at her. She frowned for a second, nodded once, and that was it.

"Guess that leaves me, huh?" Cissie sighed, not meeting his eyes. "Guess it'd have to come out eventually. People are going to start wondering why the evil dead are so set on killing me. They'd probably figure it out anyway … my uniforms never hid enough. If you can do it, Tim, I can do it." Her voice was touched with something suspiciously like misery. Bart looked worriedly at her, but made no move to get any closer.

Robin smiled as Greta came to his side, grabbing his hand in both of her own. He looked down at her, wrapping his arm around her small waist.

"So, what then?" Bart asked. "We, like, blow a horn and announce it? Don't you think it'll be a bit awkward?"

Robin shook his head. "Yeah. We don't have time for that anyway. We just start calling each other by our real names. They'll figure it out." He nodded towards the door. "Everybody sure about this?" A chorus of nods and grunts, but then Bart spoke up.

"What about Vic and Kory and Gar and Raven? What will they think?"

_Wondered if somebody would think of that._ Robin shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Their identities are public. This doesn't concern them." It came out a bit harsher than he intended, but they wouldn't even be having this problem if it weren't for their elders'—mostly Bruce's—collective paranoia, and he didn't like wasting time dealing with it. "Let's go."

Everybody filed out, Greta still hanging on his arm as he brought up the rear. "I'm not upset with you about letting him in," she whispered. "It's just …"

"I know, angel," he returned softly, hoping Kon was too absorbed in trying to coax anything but that empty look out of Cassie to pay them much notice. _He won't hurt you again. Not him or anyone else._ "It'll work out … promise."

* * *

"Are you alright dear? You two seem a bit … lost."

Dana blinked, tearing her eyes away from one of the many portholes and turning to find Superboy's—grandmother?—looking at her, concern etched on her face. She glanced around. Jack still wasn't back from the restroom Jonathan had shown him to; not a good sign. If Tim had to pry him out of some alien toilet, she was pretty sure their relationship would be well and truly doomed. _Whoa. Where'd that come from? It can't be that being nearly killed and stranded in an ice fortress with a bunch of people I don't know could be starting to get to me._ She forced a smile. "We're fine. It's just a bit … overwhelming, I guess." She suddenly remembered who she was talking to. The woman's farm was a smoldering crater. _Okay. So let's cut the self-pity._ "But we'll adjust. I mean, we should've gone through all this with Ti—Robin months ago, but…"

"He and his father are stubborn, aren't they?" The older woman smiled at Dana's aggrieved expression. "I've been watching people in spandex and capes for a long time. Seems like the best ones are some of the most obstinate. Heaven knows my boys are near immovable, once they get their minds set. Jonathan's had some pretty good fights with both of them over the years. I found it best to let them get it out of their systems and then tell all three of them what they're going to do when they're done." Her face crinkled up in worry, and she brushed a graying lock out of her face. Dana thought she looked very tired. "I can't believe we wound up raising another one. It was easier the first time around. There weren't really that many costumed heroes … we got to raise him on our own. Now, so many of the younger ones feel like they have to measure up to the ones who came before. It's not really fair to … Kon."

It clicked, and Dana felt kind of stupid for not realizing it before. Where Superboy was… "You raised Superman, too."

Martha smiled, shaking her head. "We raised our son as best we could. Taught him right and wrong and good from evil. That's all you can really do. We knew he'd end up doing something amazing with his gifts, but sometimes, when I stop and think about what he's become, everything he's done, it's hard to believe he used to be a little baby that couldn't sleep unless he was splayed out on Jonathan's chest." She looked pointedly at Dana. "He's still our baby, you know, no matter what he is to anybody else." Another shake of the head. "He's going to be a mess when he sees the farm. Jonathan's being reasonable, at least. We've got some wonderful insurance, so I'm not really worried about rebuilding..."

Dana couldn't form words for a second. Martha wasn't so much being subtle as hitting her over the head with a silk-wrapped brick. Dana got the message, but the kind woman in front of her just didn't understand. There was stubborn, and then there was Jack and Tim. No amount of platitudes was going to fix them. She just wasn't sure what was. "You're taking it really well," she hedged. "About the farm, I mean." Dana suddenly realized she hadn't really spared a thought for her trashed house. _I guess there are more important things. Like missing people and somebody that wants to put Tim in the ground._

Martha's face fell. "Don't get me wrong," she said quietly. "I'm trying not to think about it. But, I always knew something like this could happen. All of it … it's things. I've got my boys in one piece, and Jonathan. They're irreplaceable. Besides," older women looked really odd with a naughty grin, "I kept a few things I really didn't want to lose down in our shelter. When this is all over, you should come over, dear. Superman was a baby once, and I've got the incriminating pictures to prove it." Dana laughed, trying to imagine the most powerful man in the world begging the woman in front of her not to show off his baby pictures. "I've got one of him in a pink bunny suit."

Dana grinned in spite of herself. There were some offers you just didn't pass up. "I'm there."

"You two must be very proud of your son," Martha offered. "I've never gotten to spend more than a few minutes with him, but he's obviously a remarkable young man. And such a good anchor for his friends. I'm glad Superboy's had him as an influence all these years."

Dana felt familiar warmth rushing to her face. "I—we—are. It's just so … complicated."

"I guess the Batman," Dana caught a slight note of distaste, "doesn't really do anything by halves, does he? Or those he teaches. It's so strange to Jonathan and I, the secrecy. Robin's never even taken his mask off at our house, and Lord knows we wouldn't tell anyone."

"He didn't tell us either, for years. I found out by accident." Dana almost regretted her words when she saw the shock on Martha's face. "Like I said," she smiled ruefully. "He's complicated." _Nice save, Dane._ Tim had never been absolutely straightforward about the reasons he kept his secret from them for so long. Only that he had no choice. Dana knew him well enough now to know that he honestly regretted it, but never had the nerve to push the issue during their Friday visits. It agitated him, and she was scared to death of driving him away.

As if on cue, one of the walls melted away, and Tim strode in with Greta on his arm. She marveled at the way his cape, cloaked around them both, made him look so much bigger than he actually was. Then she blinked as Martha gasped next to her.

The mask was gone.

On his right, Kid Flash had pulled his back so it hung between his shoulder blades. The others followed close behind them, the black girl, too, missing her headgear—if you didn't count the tissue she was holding to her nose.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bonnie take a deep breath, and Ishido next to her, both looking somewhat relieved. When the black girl announced she was going to go check on "the lovebirds" and Tim responded with a quiet "Okay, Anita," Dana realized what had happened, and felt a huge weight she hadn't really been aware of slide off her shoulders. _No more secrets. At least not from these people._ "Maybe not so complicated after all." _What happened? What changed?_

Martha smiled, the biggest Dana had yet seen. "I guess not, dear. Perhaps we should reintroduce ourselves. Martha Kent."

Dana smiled. "Dana Drake." _Wait a second._ She'd heard the name Martha Kent before. Her mind flashed back to one of her favorite novels, the About the Author page. "_Clark Kent lives in Metropolis with his wife Lois, fellow reporter for the Daily Planet, and calls his parents Jonathan and Martha every Sunday."_ It had stuck with her because it reminded her of her own farm country family, and what it had been like to leave them for the big city. Dana felt like someone had dumped her in icewater.

She knew who Superman was. And it had only taken two words. And now she was responsible for that…

Suddenly Tim's commitment to secrets made a lot more sense.

"So nice to have last names again," Martha chuckled, taking her hand. "Relax, dear. You know Batman's identity, I'm sure. This isn't that different."

Dana nodded dumbly, feeling like Martha had to be wrong, whether she realized it or not. Tim had always been so careful with her. First names only, purposely vague. She still didn't know who the Oracle was that Tim talked about all the time, or Batgirl, or Huntress, and she'd only figured out Dick Grayson because it made such perfect sense. No more. She was in, really in, trusted with knowledge that could get people killed, and she suddenly realized exactly how scary a place that happened to be. Who else's secrets would she and Jack be responsible for?

"Alright, everybody," Tim called, still speaking in the clipped, calm tones of Robin, "let's get to work."

Dana smiled weakly, hoping Jack would appreciate their gesture.


	10. Milk Carton Castaway

A/N: See previous chapters for full notes. This should really be considered part one of a two part "Finding Traya" arc. It was all originally meant to be in one chapter, but I felt a 30000+ chapter was pushing it in terms of length. As such, however, Chapter 11 is already halfway done and should be completed shortly. All feedback is appreciated. Enjoy.

Robin rubbed his eyes as he retook his seat, letting himself enjoy massaging the stress away. It wasn't easy to do with the mask on. Dana had looked so ... shocked ... just now. _Mrs. Kent must've given her their last name. She reads Clark's novels._ He shook his head. _Just gets better and better. Welcome to the secrets and lies brigade, Dana. Your trial membership has just been upgraded._ Greta settled in next to him, and he felt a slight bit of _deja vu_.

"So," she said, before anyone else had a chance, "what do we do now?" The others crowded around him, even Bonnie and Ishido. He'd half hoped the A.P.E.S. agent wouldn't show, tactical disaster that would be.

"I want to check something," he heard a hiss behind him, and guessed his father and Jonathan Kent had found their way back. Sure enough, he heard Dana whispering in his dad's ear. Then a muffled gasp. _And that makes two._ "Computer," he heard a soft beep and took it as a cue to continue, "give me multiple feeds, all major national television news networks, and regionals. Array in grid pattern, left view screen."

A metallic voice floated down from the ceiling. "_Working. Stand by."_

Robin flagged down one of the robots. "Status on the analysis I asked for?"

"Just completed, Master Robin," it chirped. He felt his father and Dana coming up on his right.

"I'd like to see it on this," he indicated a smaller monitor set into the console at an angle.

"At once."

Robin nodded, more to himself than anybody else, and began scrolling through the data on the Kryptonite shard.

He heard his father whisper behind him. "You understand all that stuff?" He sounded more than a little awed, and Tim felt his cheeks redden.

"Yeah," he said flatly, not looking away from the data. _This all looks normal. This isn't making sense._

"Wow." His father whispered, clearly impressed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greta beam at him, and felt a faint wisp of embarrassment.

_Well, at least they're agreeing on something._ He pressed a button, and a detailed radiological analysis filled the screen. He started to skim. _Whoa. Wait a second._ He went back to the spectrograph and started over, rereading three times just to make sure he hadn't missed something. _That doesn't match--it's so close, almost missed it._ _How in the world--damn._ "Kon. Could you float over here a second? There's something you need to see," he kept his voice level, the way an oncologist might before announcing the biopsy indicated stage four cancer.

Kon and Cassie were suddenly floating over his head, hand in hand. They peered at the monitor for a few seconds, before Kon made a disgusted noise. "Yes, that sure is a nice set of scary looking equations and graphs." He smirked. "Mind dumbing it down for those of us who aren't, you know, freaky genius boys?" Cassie coughed, frowning lightly. "And girls," he amended.

She elbowed him halfheartedly. "Not what I was going for," she whispered mirthlessly.

Robin smiled thinly, but it fell away as soon as he realized what he was about to say. "Remember that Kryptonite shard you pulled out of yourself in the Cycle?" Kon nodded, looking confused. "Something struck me as ... off ... about it. It seemed a bit too transparent compared to normal ore samples." Kon grunted, frowning. Robin took it as a silent admission that no, he hadn't noticed. "I had the computers run some analysis routines."

"Now that you mention it," the Teen of Tomorrow mused, "I wasn't really thinking about it at the time, but it seemed like those first few didn't hurt as much. It really took a lot of them to slow me down. I thought it was adrenaline, but then again, when that second volley caught me," Cassie wrapped a protective arm around his waist, "_that_ felt like I remembered. I figured I was just tiring out." He frowned. "What are you getting at, Tim?"

Robin frowned, steepling his thumbs and forefingers together as he looked up at his friend. "Kryptonite doesn't come in jello-transparent, and never in variable strengths, unless it's been diluted into an alloy, which wasn't the case here. Whatever those things were shooting, it _wasn't_ Kryptonite."

"But--" Kon began, but Robin held up a hand.

"I won't bore you with the details, but analysis shows the spectrographic signature to have a number of very minor differences with what we have on file as the baseline. Think of the difference between original paper documents and Xeroxed copies. Almost identical, but with some very small differences introduced. Still basically the same thing in terms of function."

"So ... it's artificial?" Jonathan Kent spoke up suddenly. "We've always believed artificial Kryptonite is impossible to produce. Otherwise every criminal in the world would be trying to figure out how to make it." He sounded slightly angry.

"Jonathan..." Martha said gently. "You need to stay calm, dear."

Robin ignored them, sending up another prayer that the man didn't have another coronary before Clark got back. "It is," Robin said gently. "At least, from a purely scientific viewpoint. It's too complex to synthesize. But like I said, this isn't Kryptonite. It just happens to be something very similar that has the same effects. I wouldn't think _that_ was scientifically possible, either, but given that we're dealing with unknown mystical forces, I'm willing to accept the possibility. Especially given the second bit of data I've got here. This is the part I really don't like."

Kon scowled, looking a bit pale. "There's more? Wonderful."

Robin continued, a scowl forming on his own face. "Kryptonite has a very specific radiation signature. That's what makes it dangerous to you. This stuff, whatever it is, matches, but the output isn't as intense. He was toying with you. Once we started the second round, I'm willing to bet they ramped up the intensity." He fixed Kon with a dark look. "According to these scans, this stuff can theoretically put out radiation _double the intensity_ of the natural ore. I'm not sure how you'd make the adjustment...probably something to do with molecular bonds or electron bleeding."

All was silent. Cassie tightened her grip on her boyfriend's waist, and Robin guessed she'd have already crushed his ribs five times over if he were human.

"Sh--" Martha cleared her throat, looking a bit green. "Shoot," Kon muttered. "This sucks."

"What--" Jonathan suddenly sounded old. "What could do that?"

Robin tilted his head to the side. "I don't know, sir. But whoever's behind this, they have _extremely_ powerful magic at their disposal. I have no problem admitting I'm out of my depth. Raven might have some ideas, but just the same, I'll probably stop in to see Jason Blood when I get the chance." _Too bad Fate's off planet. He'd be more sociable._

"When you get the chance?" Martha sounded a bit upset now. "How can you be so blithe about newer, deadlier Kryptonite?"

He frowned. "I'm not trying to be, ma'am, it's just--"

"This doesn't matter, Ma," Kon spoke finally, still staring at the screen, as if he could change the results by force of will. "There's really no difference between deadly and deadlier. Either way, I'm in big trouble if I let myself get nailed at all, just like always." He tapped a piece of body armor. "I'm going to be a lot more careful from here on out, though, I promise. Right now finding the others and figuring out what's going on is more important."

"You better be," Cassie whispered. "Robin," she continued, pulling away from Kon with a peck on the cheek, "I was wondering if I could go back and check on Mom. I'm ready to go wherever you need me, but Dr Leslie says she'll wake up soon, and I ... I want to be there when she realizes ..." She wasn't exactly crying, but her eyes were starting to cloud.

He gave her his best reassuring smile. "Go on, Cassie," he said gently. "I'll call if we need you, or when we know more about what's going on."

She managed a watery smile. "Thanks, Tim." She moved off, Kon starting to follow before she abruptly put a hand on his chest. "No. You need to stay here."

"But--" Kon's face took on a lost puppy look that sort of reminded Tim of Clark after Lois harangued him.

"No buts," she smiled at him, the gesture never quite reaching her eyes. "They need you up here. I'm not really ... I don't think I'd be much good in a fight right now." Robin saw Greta frowning worriedly at his side, shoulders tense. He knew that look. She wanted to catch Cassie in a bear hug of mammoth proportions, but knew now wasn't the time. "They need one of us up here."

Kon shuffled on his feet, looking reluctant. "But, you'll call me if you need me, right?" She nodded and turned, floating in the air for a second before darting off in a blur.

"I think I'll slip off too," Bonnie smiled thinly. "I can't really do much here." And she was gone.

Dana's voice was suddenly in his ear. "Tim...how bad is her mother?" He considered answering, but didn't feel like he had the euphemisms in him, so he just looked at her, knowing without the mask the answer would be burned across his face. He'd put it back on soon. In spite of himself, he felt ... naked. Apparently, she got the message. "Oh, God. That poor girl..."

Cissie stood up abruptly. "Tim, if you don't mind, I'm a bit tired of sitting around doing nothing. I could be ... more useful ... helping out in the infirmary."

Tim nodded enthusiastically. "Sounds great."

"Thanks, Cissie," Kon grinned at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cissie winked, and moved for the door. "Good luck." She flew past Bart without a word. He watched her go with a pained expression on his face, and started pacing again.

Robin was distracted as the gargantuan display to his side sprung to life, filling with dozens of squares all showing, as he expected, various "breaking news" station identifiers and suitably grave yet attractive talking heads. He kept it all muted, sweeping his gaze across the various feeds and forcing his brain not to focus on any one of them, but instead to look for a general pattern in the chaos, as Bruce had taught him.

It wasn't hard to spot.

"Jesus," he heard his father kneel at his side, Dana gasping in shock behind him.

"Good Lord." Jonathan Kent sounded like someone had kicked him in the stomach, and Martha didn't look much better. Kon swore, but everyone else seemed stunned into silence.

Greta's hands were over her mouth, already large eyes wide. "What?" She shook herself, her voice gaining an edge. "When did this ... how many people?" One of her hands found Robin's glove, and she interlocked her fingers tightly with his. He squeezed in a way he hoped reassuring, willing his own arms to stop shaking.  
Robin shut his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, forcing the watery weight behind them to recede. "Your contacts are gifted with understatement, Agent Maad." He skimmed the various tickers and text balloons, mind racing. _Damn them._

"No shit," Ishido scowled at the monitor, horror dancing in his eyes. All the feeds were showing different footage, but it was all the same--smoldering wrecks of what used to be S.T.A.R. Labs facilities specially designed to house JLA teleporter tubes.

_I've seen enough._ The Urban Legend flipped a switch and started recording the feeds and blacked out the display. He had to be calm now. _In control. For everybody._ When words came, they were clipped and hard, and he knew he was scowling. "Looks like everything was hit within a minute of 1430 hours, Gotham time. That's about the point when we were attacked and general communications failed." He shook his head. "Whoever's doing this is _very_ well organized, and just as well thought out as they are arrogant. These feeds are absolutely useless, and probably will be for the next seventy-two hours at least." He thumped the armrest. "Damn."

Kon raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure that? I mean, we can at least see which teleporter locations were hit--"

"Agent Maad can get us that. He's waiting for casualty numbers as we speak," Robin ground out. "They know they've taken out our primary communications systems and we're very much cut off at the moment. Ordinarily, we'd be able to get some idea of what was really going on from the news, but all of this--we don't really need the JLA teleporter tubes to get around. We've got handheld Boom Tube generators and the private teleporter network that links the Cave, Watchtower, and Fortress. We can be wherever we need to be. It's a diversion for the press, so we can't get anything useful from them."

"Clever," Ishido grumbled.

"Wait," Dana whispered, numb shock easily audible, "one of those displays said there were fatalities. People died. And you're saying all that was ... was ..."

"A diversion," Jack finished for her. "You can't be serious. I mean..." the usual malice was gone from his tone, leaving a pained disbelief in its place.

"Anyone who knows as much about us as whoever's doing this--our technology, how we operate--would know taking out the hubs wouldn't be a major blow."

"Then why?" Greta's face was green, and she sounded close to being physically ill. "All those people. All that death and pain...for what?"

"They obviously don't care about the value of human life as anything other than a tool." He squeezed her hand again. "We'll see they learn different. Most likely possibility, they're covering something _else_ up. Something they actually _don't_ want us to know about, at least not for a while. Whatever it is, it's not as huge and flashy as this apparent," he scowled deeper, "terrorist attack, as MSNBC has so inflammatorily labeled it..."

"So no one's covering it," Greta finished, chewing her lower lip. "Who would create that much carnage just to hide ... to hide ... what?" Her eyes went wide, her grip suddenly hurt, _a lot_, and Robin knew exactly what she was thinking. "Oh, no."

"It's been personal for this guy since it started." He spoke with calm he didn't really feel. She didn't resist when he took his hand away and started typing again, bringing up the programs he would need to break into Kathy's credit card history. "We need to find Kathy, Reddy, Snapper and Traya. We need to find them _now._"

"How?" His father, still sounding unusually calm.

"I'm gonna track down her credit card history. It should give us some clue where they were when this began, so we know where to start looking." He felt a calm sweep over him. He could find them. This was the kind of stuff he was best at. He looked over his shoulders. "I need volunteers. There's a chance something about our mystery event might be mentioned on the news, if only for a few minutes. I'd like somebody to keep an eye on things in case something pops up. I'm dividing up the display into smaller feed groups and redirecting them to the set of monitors inset next to Bart. Speaking of which," he looked at Kon, "you have good eye for detail. Bart, I want you to go to Reddy's place with Anita--we travel in groups from now on. See if you can find any paper receipts or anything that might indicate where they could be, and bring back their computer. Then Snapper's place."

Bart and Anita nodded, looking pleased to have something to do. "We're on it." He scooped Anita up, and in the next second, they were gone, the crack of the sound barrier shattering the only sign they'd been there at all.

There were still two open terminals.

Jonathan smiled--or tried to; he was still looking pretty grim. He looked at Jack. "What do you say, son? Personally, I'm getting a bit tired of standing around and letting everybody else do all the work." To Robin's surprise, his father actually smiled and nodded. "What exactly are we looking for, Timothy?" The last word was spoken with a bit of hesitation, as if he wasn't used to it.

"Anything that looks promising, and doesn't relate directly to the hub attacks. Press the button marked 'flag' if something catches your interest, and the computer will make note of the timestamp and channel."

"It's a lot to look at all at once," his father said.

"Yeah," he nodded, raising his voice, intending for Jonathan and Kon to listen. "Don't try to focus on every little detail. Instead, look for something glaringly out of place. That makes it easier. Good luck." He smiled and went back to typing as the three of them and Mrs. Kent wandered across the room. After a beat, Ishido followed. Even though they weren't touching, he could feel Greta relax next to him.

Dana knelt next to Greta, watching him intently. "So...?"

"Now he's going to hack into a credit card company and make it look about as easy as finding the nearest Chinese restaurant," Greta said with something that approached an impish grin. Robin wasn't fooled. Worry still all but spilled from her eyes. Now more than ever. Irrationally, he found himself wishing for three arms.

"I'm in," he muttered about fifteen minutes later, letting the side of his mouth twitch up. "All I need is her Social Security number and I should be able to see her full transaction history." He pressed another key and brought up the interface to the Crays in the Cave. _Good thing Bruce and Babs keep their hooks into the SSA databanks current. Saves time._ Finding her number was as easy as typing her information into a custom search program that spoofed a high-clearance terminal at a randomly chosen Social Security field office. Another two minutes, and he was combing through American Express' file on Kathy.

"Shouldn't that have been harder?" Dana asked no one in particular, voice small.

"Don't ask me," Greta's almost-smile reflected off the display. "I never go near the computers in the Cave. I'm terrified I'll accidentally activate the self destruct sequence or something."

Robin chuckled, and was about to say something when his eyes fell on a promising entry. He scrolled to the end of the list, and didn't find anything else that looked like it could be it. "I think I've got something," he grinned. "Purchase dated two weeks ago to TicketMaster for ... wow." He smiled. He was glad they went all out for Traya. She deserved it. _Either they didn't spend any money once they got there or the charges haven't been posted yet. Too bad. That would've been helpful._

"That's a lot for three people," Dana mused. "Especially if one of them gets a child discount. Must be a big show."

"Tickets to what?" Greta asked. There was a trace of annoyance in her eyes. "If they'd just told Cissie and I what they were planning, none of this would even be a problem."

Robin ground his teeth. He recognized that tone. _It's not your fault, beautiful._ "That's not fair, Greta. If I hadn't gotten off duty, you'd be having this conversation with Gar and I'd be missing with Vic." _If I hadn't gotten off ..._ He didn't really want to think about how that would've changed things.

She looked like someone had poured liquid Jell-O down her pants, and leaned against him. "I guess I can get away with thinking it could be worse, huh?"

"Yeah." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick hug while Dana beamed at them. The endearing look she was giving them made him want to squirm, but he was glad she seemed to get along with Greta. That was important. "So, let's trace this reference number and find them."

"Sounds good. Should that be hard?" Greta asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "No harder than breaking into the American Express databanks. Credit card companies are more security conscious, since they have more liability most of the time." He smiled. "Makes our job easier."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Robin's fist echoed impressively as he slammed it against the console. "Damn it." _So much for being easier._ The side of his hand started to throb. _Great, Robin. Wonderful._ "Ouch." _Was that out loud?_ At least he'd already put the mask back on. He had _that_ much cover. He'd needed it once Bart and Anita--now fully clothed in her Empress suit--had reported back and announced, pale and wide-eyed both, that Kathy and Reddy's place had been completely torched. What wasn't burned away was almost completely collapsed in on itself. The fire department had contained the blaze, but saving the house was beyond them.

Gas explosion centered around the hot water heater, with a kerosene-gasoline mixture strewn all over the house as accelerant. But according to Bart and Anita, no one had been inside when it went up. And as Bruce and experience had taught him, he wasn't about to assume the worst without proof. No one was giving up yet, but all of them were fighting a growing dread, and not just because someone was going to have to tell Kathy and Reddy they were now homeless.

Snapper's apartment was intact, but he wasn't there, and his laptop (and scheduling software) wasn't either. Still, Tim knew better than to try to split his attention, and kept his efforts focused on Reddy. Their discoveries had left them both shaken, Anita taking temporary refuge in her parents makeshift nursery, with Bart tagging along. Robin had no problem going along with it when the younger hero claimed it was just because Anita would need some help with the kids. Somewhere along the line, even Bart had developed a bit of a macho streak.

"What's wrong?" Greta asked, trying to sound calm and almost pulling it off as she took his hand and slipped the glove away, her small fingers gently massaging the already discoloring skin. He smiled at her, once again amazed at how she could coax such expressions out of him when they both knew the thing he wanted most was to put his fist through the display.

"I can't get in. At all. I've tried everything, but I can't make a direct connection. I broke into _nine_ different travel agency systems and spoofed their auth codes, and still nothing. I just got into a credit card company and the Social Security Administration. This _should not_ be hard." He blinked. "Unless ..." He began typing again, several inappropriate jokes about one-handed typists Dick had implanted into his head bubbling up from his subconscious. "I've already ruled out a stealth-mode firewall." Greta and Dana both blinked at him, making it clear they had no idea what he was talking about. _Okay._ "I can't get into the system. I can't even _find_ the system. It's like it's not even there. I'd bet willing to be money they took it out, just to make things more difficult. I wonder..." He pulled up another window.

Dana looked incredulous. "You're going to _Google_ something?"

Robin smiled grimly, not looking away from the display. "They took out the JLA communication system, so it's not really that big a stretch to think they could take down the Ticketmaster website and cut the links from the company's database to various booking agencies. But if all you're used to is firing bazookas, sometimes you miss details." _Ticketmaster datacenter is ..._ The results came back. _XO Communications._ He immediately set about probing the company's systems and found them to be, at the very least, still online. A grin--a _real_ grin--split his face.

"What?" Dana again.

"They made a mistake," he replied. "All the public interfaces to the data we need are gone, apparently, but that doesn't mean it isn't still there. With any luck, the system is still functioning and connected to something I can access. I should be able to get into XO, locate the Ticketmaster files and sift through today's event calendar." He squeezed Greta's hand. "We're going to find them."

"Let's hope they make more mistakes." She grinned and swatted hair away from her eyes. "Better give this back," she released his hand. "Don't want to slow you down."

Dana was doing that creepy beaming thing at them again, but managed to ask, "Tim, seriously, _when_ did you learn all this?"

He'd begun learning his advanced computer skills around the same time Bruce was beginning his intensive physical conditioning, which consisted, among other things, of being locked in alternately freezing and burning hot chambers for long periods of time while running through katas and other physically and mentally demanding routines, and learning how to hold his breath underwater even when his body was telling him he needed to surface-now-or-else. Since he was thirteen at the time, and Dana had been remarkably freakout free since they left the house, he considered it best to leave all this unsaid for the time being.

He just smiled. "Before I went to train in Paris."

His father blinked. "Paris?"

* * *

It took longer than he had hoped to find the information they needed. Several times the access path he was using vanished; he guessed the technicians were busily resetting and reconfiguring things to try to fix whatever damage had been inflicted on the servers, but it was ... annoying. He finally found a relatively stable route to a non-optimized backup server. He knew it couldn't have taken more than twenty minutes to get the information he needed and process it into a searchable form with a map-based representation--he and Bruce and Dick did this sort of thing often enough that the Crays were highly optimized for the task--but with the information Bart and Anita had brought back, even his nerves were beginning to fray. One more command sequence, and--_That should do it._

A map of the United States filled the screen, covered in several dozen multi-colored dots. "Okay, everybody, it's up." Bart and Kon didn't move from their spots at the monitors, but they were obviously paying attention, like everybody else. The speedster was twitching worse now more than ever; his outline was little more than a blur.

"So now..." Dana questioned.

"We narrow it down," Robin said, fingers moving deftly across the keys. A number of dots disappeared. "I've excluded the events that don't allow children. We know how much the ticket prices were at each of these remaining, so the next thing to do is compare those prices, which thankfully include tax and other fees so we don't have to waste time figuring them up, to the amount charged to Kathy's card. What doesn't match, we get rid of." Another quick series of SQL commands, and roughly half the lights winked out. There were about twenty left now, mostly on the coasts.

Greta grinned. "Much better."

He returned her smile. "Yeah. But that was the easy part. Now we've gotta go through what's left. There's still a good number of events up here. We need to think about what they would be likely to take Traya to. What would she really enjoy? I take that back--what would she definitely _not_ like? You know her better than I do."

Greta looked more than pleased at being able to help, and narrowed her eyes as she started chewing on her lip. "Let me think. Oh! Any circuses? She says she doesn't like how they treat the animals."

Robin raised an eyebrow, part of him glad Dick wasn't around to hear that. _I'm sure knowing a guy who can turn into animals has _nothing _to do with it._ "Five events involving performing animals, actually." He tapped some keys. "They're gone." He looked at her expectantly.

She thought for another moment before her eyes lit up, but she didn't look nearly so triumphant this time. "Clowns. Get rid of anything with clowns."

He frowned as he typed. "Any particular reason? I thought she liked them." _She used to, I'm sure ... I remember seeing her enthralled by that Bozo show a couple times when she and Reddy were at the old hotel._ "Three. Gone."

Greta looked a bit uncomfortable. "She told me about it. She had a dentist appointment back in December. Someone left a _Time_ in the kids' magazine stack, and I guess she thought it was more interesting than _National Geographic_. Kathy and Reddy were _pissed_. Not at Traya, but ... she has a different dentist now."

Robin thought back. January hadn't been good for him ... that dark time between getting kicked out and Cissie and Cassie encouraging him to spend more time with Greta. She didn't have many friends at St. Elias and he was rapidly becoming "broodier than the Bat." He thought of the magazines that had come out that month, and sure enough there had been an issue of _Time_ that stuck out in his mind, a special report on meta-human and other costumed criminals with emphasis on ... "_Joker._" He spat the name with even more than the usual venom. "No wonder she seemed so worried about me when I first started showing up after patrols. That thing was too graphic."

"She and I talked about it," Greta said quietly. "I told her you never fought him without help, and that made her feel a lot better." She smiled. "We both decided you were one of the most careful people we know, and she seemed to get over it. But she's still not big on clowns. I would've mentioned it sooner, but ... you showed up and," she glanced at Dana, "everything that had happened sort of took all my attention, and then we became a ... us. I guess I kind of put it out of my mind."

She sounded uncertain, like she thought he would be mad, and that wouldn't do at all. They'd needed time at first to renew their friendship, and had both been somewhat sideswiped, though happy, when they realized they had begun dating; he certainly hadn't expected her to share whatever intimate secrets Traya might have told her in confidence--not then and not now. Just like he didn't expect to hear about every conversation between Babs and Cass. He smiled at her. "It's good that she can talk to you like that. I don't suppose you know anything else she doesn't like?" He couldn't keep the hopeful tone from his voice, but she shook her head.

"Sorry," she frowned. "That's about all I've got off the top of my head."

"What's left?" Dana asked, breaking her long silence and reminding Tim she was there. From the way Greta jumped, she'd probably forgotten too.

Robin pressed a few keys and indicated a window. "Everything in this list. Actually ... I bet we can eliminate the monster truck event. Truckasaurus doesn't really seem like a Traya thing."

"Or the musicals, either. We tried to get her to sit through _Phantom of the Opera_ and she threw pillows at us and went to watch _The Princess Bride_ in the rec room." Greta's smile soured a bit. "I wish I had gone with her."

Robin allowed himself to chuckle, and Dana even giggled a little. "That leaves nine." An idea struck him suddenly. "Wait a second. Some of these are sold out. I should be able to remove the ones that were completely full before Kathy bought her tickets. That leaves ..." More typing, and he didn't try to stop the smile that fell over his face as Greta grinned like the Cheshire cat next to him and Dana's eyebrows shot up, "four." _Should've done that at the beginning. Careful, Robin._

"So, how do you get rid of the last three?" Dana asked, looking at Tim with somewhat surprised eyes, almost like she had never seen him before. He guessed she had never really stopped to think about what it meant to be the protégé of the World's Greatest Detective. "Three things on this list aren't what we're looking for. But I can't really think of any good reason to eliminate any of them out of hand."

Dana frowned. "So ... what? You just pick one?"

"No," Greta frowned. "You should never guess." Robin raised an eyebrow at her. "What? I've been hanging around you, Nightwing and Batman long enough to pick up a _little_ bit." Dana giggled softly.

Tim was already typing in a new prompt. "No, it's not that. It's just weird to hear you quoting Batman." He pressed another key, and the computer beeped at him. "We can't depend on national news. But local sources--Kon! You guys seen anything from Dallas, Springfield, New York or Las Vegas?"

"I just saw a feed from Dallas," Kon called back. "They're just relaying feeds from the national networks."

"I think I've got New York on one of these little screens," Jonathan Kent cut in. "They've deployed SWAT teams and are evacuating nonessential services and business, but it all looks like they're just playing it safe, son." His father looked at the older man oddly as the last word left his mouth.

"Great. Two down. Anybody got Springfield, Missouri?" _It's not a huge city like the others. It's not likely there'd be an event Traya would be interested in..._

Kon shook his head. "It's not on my monitors."

"I don't have it either," Jonathan muttered.

"Sorry, kid. Mostly upper west coast over here," Ishido grumbled.

"Hmm..." Robin frowned. "Dad?"

His father looked up at him sharply, looking suddenly nervous. "Um ... I don't think I ... wait! Here it is!" He scrutinized the display a moment, before shaking his head in disgust. "They're just bouncing NewsChannel coverage of the wreckage in Metropolis and Keystone, and," his eyes widened, "they've got some jackass talking about how this is all--"

"Our fault?" Kon sneered.

His father nodded, and Robin felt a strange warmth flare in his chest, however briefly. Not too long ago, he figured Jack Drake would've agreed with them, but the tinge of anger on the man's face was unmistakable. Dana was smiling softly next to him, and even Greta seemed to approve. _Baby steps, I guess._ A cold weight settled in the pit of his stomach. "One left then." Greta tensed anew and Dana sucked in a breath as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Computer, cut all feeds not originating from Las Vegas, Nevada."

"_Working..._"

Ten seconds later, every single display in the room blanked out.

"_No feeds meet designated parameters._" Robin's eyes widened under the mask, and he barely noticed as Greta's hand clamped over his wrist.

"What does that mean?" Dana said, dread creeping back into her voice.

"Just like in Gotham," Greta whispered.

"Don't panic yet," Robin said.

"What about the internet?" Jack asked, coming up on his other side. "Surely there's got to be some news source in the city still putting up information..."

"Already trying it," Robin growled, his fingers flying once again over the keyboard. "God, I wish Oracle was back online."

Five minutes later, and it was only the presence of Greta's hand on his arm that kept him from trying to shatter the keyboard again. "Figures. Every major news site out of the city is down. Looks like some kind of denial of service attack."

"Damn," Ishido spoke softly. "Looks like we found 'em, kid. Total media blackout."

"Somehow I don't feel any better. Damn it," Kon muttered, not even flinching when Martha shot him a sour look. "So what's the plan, Fearless Leader? I know I'm not usually the one to say this kind of thing, but something tells me rushing into things isn't a great idea."

_I could try to break into the Las Vegas area Amateur Radio Emergency Service net, but ... no. We've kept them waiting long enough. We know exactly where they should be._ "Maybe not, but under the circumstances, I'm willing to take the risk." Kon and Greta nodded sharply.

"But," Dana cut in, "if you don't even know what's going on there..."

"We've got to go after them," Greta said simply. "We didn't know what was happening at your house, either, only that you were in trouble. Sometimes that's as good as it gets." Robin noticed his father looking like he wanted to speak, but he held his tongue.

"Tell me about it," Ishido grumbled.

Robin turned to Superboy. "Reddy's no pushover, by anyone's standards. Whatever they sent after him won't be either. Ready for round two?"

Superboy's smirked. "Like you have to ask. We taking the Cycle?"

"No," Robin frowned, earning a surprised--and none-to-pleased--look from Greta. "The weapons are burnt out. You're faster in the air than it is, and I can do more on the ground." Kon nodded as the Urban Legend tapped his earpiece. "Listen up, everybody. We've got a location on Reddy--they're in Las Vegas at a magic show. Media's totally blacked out, though. Kon and I are going to scout it out and call in reinforcements as necessary. In the meantime, Anita, Bart, you're on standby. Keep your comm. link open at all times. Robin out." He stood up, giving Greta's hand one last squeeze.

"Tim," Greta said, her voice wavering slightly, "be careful. Both of you."

"Don't worry," Kon smiled thinly at her. "I won't let any buildings fall on him."

Robin grinned reassuringly at her and leaned in, kissing her quickly as he rose. "We will be." She nodded and smiled a little, but the worry never really left her eyes. His expression turned serious as he looked to Kon. "Let's hit it."


	11. Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?

AN: After an inexcusably long delay caused mostly by pressing university obligations, I'm back. As usual, I own nothing. This section of the story ended up expanding, so consider this the first half of the second part a three section arc that will end with Traya being found, among other things. After that, the plot will begin to move even faster. The second half of this chapter is already finished, and I'm editing it now. As always, enjoy, and all constructive feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Robin couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair as he swung from one building to the next. He would never know what it was like for Cassie or Kon or any of the others that could simply will themselves to soar into the heavens, but as far as he was concerned, _this_ was what it meant to fly. Even in the middle of a crisis he still found the extreme concentration necessary for grappling one of the best ways to clear his mind and refocus when in costume. _Just like meditation...except that if you lose concentration you fall a few thousand feet and turn into paste. Hmm...we should be about five miles out now._ "You got anything yet?"

The Teen of Tomorrow didn't look away from the horizon as he flew. Robin felt responsible for Helen Sandsmark, too. Of course, he wasn't dating Wonder Girl. "Nothing for sure yet. I'm too far away to get a good look--too bad we can't just rush the damn place."

Robin nodded as he fell into a momentary freefall before throwing another line and swinging around a building. Superboy executed a graceful turn and once again fell in next to him. "We don't know what we'll be stepping into. Rushing in would be--"

"Stupid, yeah." He frowned. "On the other hand, I'm picking up some voices. Sounds like local authorities--not as many as you'd think, only half a dozen patrol cars and a few motorcycle cops." He blinked. "Get this: they were escorting a funeral when they saw the mass evacuation from the highway."

"Most of Vegas' city services are probably hosed. What else?" They were close enough now that if there were any sort of fight going on, even he should've been able to hear it--Reddy's powers were nothing if not loud when he got cranked up. Robin couldn't decide if the relative silence was a good thing or not.

He tilted his head to the side. "Sounds like--yeah, okay--Reddy was definitely here. They're talking about explosions in the basement sublevels. Sounds like Reddy took charge of the evacuation. I think I'm listening to one of the security guards talking to--Captain O'Roarke. Just got on scene and trying to take command. They're pretty sure all the civilians are out, and most of the staff. But Bronzemarsh and his stage crew are missing--that's the magician you said they took Traya to see, right? They're still working on securing the area and waiting for SWAT to show up before they move in. Oh--and the power's been cut too since the building's unstable and they don't want to spark a fire, so they haven't got any idea what's going on inside." He flashed Robin an anxious look. "This is wrong, Rob."

_No kidding._ Robin felt a chill go down his back. "Yeah." _They're not moving in, but have the area secured. They'd back up Reddy if they thought he needed help. If they think the fight's over--_

"Oh _hell_. One of the guards just said Reddy went after the Bronzemarsh guy--they thought he was in trouble. He says--sounds like there was a fight, but no one stayed around long enough to see. He says he saw Reddy send Traya and Kathy off with some guard named Byron. They're buddies, apparently, and he thought it was odd he went off alone." He blinked. "Ah. He just told her which direction they went in." He no longer made any effort to hide his nervousness. "Robin ... Reddy never came out of the building, and Byron, Kathy, and Traya aren't at the evacuation site."

_Kidnapping? Or are they trapped in the building somewhere?_ Robin clamped his jaw down. _But that was a while ago. If the fight's over and no one's seen Reddy..._ He looked at Superboy; thankful he had the mask to hide the fear he knew had to be in his eyes. His friend had no such barrier. "Get us there. Now." He let go of the jumpline.

For a split second in which he was too preoccupied with worry to be terrified, he hung in the air before gravity took him. Before he could blink, Superboy grabbed him with one arm and his vision momentarily flashed blue as the half-Kryptonian extended his TTK to cover them both. It wouldn't do for Robin to be torn apart when his friend poured on the speed.

"Right." They shot off at what some detached portion of Robin's brain guessed to be around 300 miles per hour, all thoughts of flight being relaxing gone from his mind.

Please, God, let them be okay...

* * *

Sneaking past the police was pathetically easy. Twelve officers simply weren't enough to run crowd control for a thousand people milling in a parking garage. They moved through half the casino floor with no sign of anyone, and found the entrance to the showroom completely caved in. Robin had engaged his Starlight lenses and clipped a portable xenon torch to his belt. Kon stared at the wreckage and scowled. "What's the deal? Half this damn building is made of X-Ray proof material. I can't see a thing."

Robin ran his hands along the wall of debris, gauging its stability. "The Belagio shares a vault with two other casinos--at their busiest, that vault can contain hundreds of millions of dollars. The industry's paranoia when it comes to security is legendary. Robbers with enhanced vision aren't beyond the realm of possibility." _Not to mention that some genius stole 160 million out from under them a year ago._ "This looks stable enough. What do you think? Can you bust through it without causing a bigger cave-in?"

Superboy stared again, obviously using his X-ray vision. "Yeah. I think. Stand back, though, just in case." Robin nodded. The half-Kryptonian put his hand on the biggest piece of wreckage, and a wave of blue light pulsed from his palm. Robin held his hand under the belt compartment where he kept his flashbangs and unclipped his staff from the small of his back. Another second, and the entire thing--what had to be at least two tons of debris--collapsed into dust and pebbles. Superboy looked quite pleased with himself.

_You've come along way, buddy._ He peered into the void, the only sound settling dust. "Looks clear," he frowned. He'd been half hoping to see some sign of Reddy or the others. "You see anything?" He could clear the room himself, but he trusted Kon enough to take his word. _Saves time._

"It's clear in here. I can't see any sign of a fight or ... bodies, or anything like that. Curtain looks lead-lined, too," he groused.

"Magicians like to protect their secrets from prying eyes." He ran his flashlight over a ruined chandelier.

Superboy gestured at a collapsed balcony that, thankfully, seemed to have been unoccupied when it went down. "What do you think happened in here?"

Robin grunted, pivoting so the flashlight on his belt caught the ground. "They definitely hit the foundation--at least this section. Look how uneven the floor is. It's more sunk than smashed in most places." He began moving carefully forward, Kon floating in an upright position at his side.

"But the building's still standing," Kon frowned. "And Reddy can fly."

"Yeah, but it would've put everyone stuck on the ground into chaos. Enough that Reddy would be forced to help with the evacuation and leave Kathy and Traya with this Byron guy."  
"That's gone missing with them," Superboy said acidly.

"Yeah." They'd made it to the curtain. "Ready?" Superboy nodded, Robin rested his thumb over the release on his staff, and they rushed through.

It was only pure reflex that kept Robin standing as his eyes processed the scene before him, his arms flying out to seize on the curtain as bile rose in his throat and his legs suddenly seemed no longer able to support him. "No ... oh God ..."

Kon clamped a hand on his shoulder, but whether he was seeking support or offering it, Robin would never know--his hand shook furiously. "_Jesus Christ_."

The blood was a dull green in his night vision lenses, and it coated the entire floor, as far as he could see. Arms, legs, torsos, and heads lay strewn about in clusters, islands floating in a sea of death. There was a pile of debris off to one side, and something suspiciously like dried blood streaming down from three holes in one of the walls.

"_You must be able to concentrate, no matter how desperate, confusing, or gruesome the situation at hand. Others' lives will depend on your ability to achieve absolute focus. Center yourself, assess your options, and act."_

Robin inhaled with a final shudder, pushing all his emotions into a tight little ball somewhere beneath his stomach, willing his mind to consider the evidence at hand. _Thanks, Bruce._ He frowned. Ignoring what he felt now didn't mean he wouldn't have to deal with it later. He pulled two flares from his belt. "S-Superboy, you with me?"

He nodded jerkily. "Y-yeah. I--oh God--w-what do we do now?"

"Find out who did this," Robin ground out. "We find them, and make sure they answer for their crimes." He took another deep breath. "We need to get a better idea of what happened in here." He tossed his friend the flares; he seemed to catch them by reflex. "Light it up."

Superboy stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide with what could have been awe. Or shock. Or disbelief. Nevertheless, he seemed to regain some of his composure. "Right. God, you're scary sometimes..." he didn't seem to notice he'd said the last part out loud.

"Someone has to be." Superboy just blinked at him, cracked the flares into life, and launched himself into the air. Another moment, and bright, white light bathed the area. Superboy used his fingers to punch a couple holes in the ceiling and stuck them in as if he was replacing a light bulb.

Even with his mind prepared, he still had to work to keep the bile down as he scanned the room. _Focus, Robin. Batman wouldn't hesitate._ "At least twenty people," he knelt near one of the more intact bodies. "Looks like a bladed weapon--a big one. Only one cut here is actually lethal on its own. The rest look ..." _Like whoever did this was hacking away at them for fun_, "... superfluous. They're clean, too," he took a small camera from his belt and began snapping pictures, "the killer knows how to handle their weapon." He wiggled one of the man's fingers with his gloved hand. "No _rigor mortis_. They haven't been dead long." He felt a chill race down his spine. _All this carnage. Where was--_

"_Reddy!_" Superboy's scream left Robin's ears ringing, but he was already racing towards Kon. "Oh--oh _God!_" He seemed to be moving in slow motion; he didn't get there until Superboy had fallen backwards, tears steaming down his face, mouth moving in mute horror.

_Oh, no._ His mind was already moving to rationalize the damage. They'd practically rebuilt him twice. No matter what happened, surely they could--he finally got close enough to peer over Kon's muscular frame.

He couldn't stop himself as he tumbled to the ground this time, barely noticing when he fell in front of a pool of something far too dark to be human blood. "No..." he rasped. Even as his conscious mind struggled to deal with what he was seeing, his instincts kicked in, working to catalogue the scene before him.

Red Tornado's body lay in a pool of his own coolant, armor shattered and broken. His arms and legs were off to the side, arranged to look like a tic-tac-toe board. The center of the yellow circle on his chest sported a large, rough gouge and was twisted and scorched, as though it had suffered through some sort of very short-range explosion. And the head...

Robin lifted a dented, cubic ocular receptor with a shaking, gloved hand. It was the biggest piece left. Some more detached part of his brain noted that his friend's positronic brain--his memory cores, personality matrix, logic and computational systems--had been reduced to little more than silicon dust.

_Dead._ The receptor fell from his hand. Red Tornado was built to stand against Superman, and someone had completely _demolished_ him. Tears stung his eyes, and he made only token efforts to stall them. Reddy was one of his mentors. His friend. And now he was gone. Just like that. How would the others react to hearing the news? Cassie was already teetering on the edge of breakdown, Greta treated him like an uncle, Bart still didn't really know how to deal with death in general yet, and Traya--

It was like a lightning bolt had slammed into him. Before he really knew what was happening, he was on his feet, all strength back in his muscles, white noise and a single thought pulsing between his ears.

_Traya._

Traya was here somewhere, and Reddy would've fought with everything he had if he thought she was in even an iota of danger. He loved Kathy too, but he was never so driven as when his little girl's welfare was at issue--he'd challenged the entire DEO _and _APES to keep her safe, without a second thought.

He would've died believing she and Kathy were safe with that security guard. But they were missing. Someone had widowed Kathy and taken Traya's father from her. Again. And he wasn't so stupid to think that by some miracle they _weren't_ in trouble, wherever they were. White-hot anger flooded through him. _You will pay for what you've done. I'm going to find them, and get them to safety. And then I'll make you pay._ Superboy was rising slowly next to him, horror still seared across his face. "Come on. We ... we've got to keep going."

Superboy gulped, nodding. "Yeah."

Robin crossed the room, stopping in front of the strange holes in the opposite wall.

Kon's eyes widened. "This is human blood."

"Not coolant, at least," Robin nodded. He reached into one of his belt compartments, producing a glassine baggie and carefully knocking several large flakes into it with a putty knife. "Definitely worth running a DNA test on. Could be one of our assailants. Or the one behind it all, if he decided to get personal." He returned the baggie to his belt.

"But, even if it is him," Kon frowned, "This is _Reddy_ we're talking about," his eyes darted to their friends remains, and he shuddered. "He doesn't--wouldn't have ... what? Nailed somebody to the wall?"

Robin repressed his own shudder. It wasn't a pleasant idea. _But not impossible._ "No," he gestured at the holes, "look. There are grooves here, like something was _screwed_ in." He looked at the floor, and picked up a gore-laden piece of twisted metal half hidden under a piece of drywall. Superboy made a gurgling noise in his throat. Robin ignored his own queasiness. "The way tissue is stuck to this, it was likely pulled out. Reddy wouldn't free someone he'd just impaled." _God, Reddy. Who ... _what _were you fighting that you thought this was necessary?_

Kon shook his head. "But why would he--?"

"He must've decided he couldn't incapacitate him," Robin cut in, "and considered this the only option to take him out of the fight." His voice grew grim. "And this guy _freed_ himself and proceeded, after being pierced in the forearms and legs, to destroy him." He growled. "He should've lost so much blood he wouldn't have been able to stand. We're looking at someone with telekinesis or the equivalent--to remove the ... pins--and some sort of very enhanced healing abilities to recover fast enough and well enough to ..."

Kon tilted his head towards the another wall. "What about that rubble pile?"

"Let's find out," Robin's lips fell into a thin line--the closest thing to a smile he felt like he could manage. "Anything under it?" Kon shook his head as they crossed the room. Robin knelt next to the pile. _Looks like someone climbed out of it. Maybe Reddy tried slamming him--her? It? --into the wall. Not that it did any good._ A patch of glossy black caught his eye, and he fished a piece of material out of the wreckage. "Hmm." There was more blood on it. _Test them both. Make sure what's on the wall is from the same person._

Kon stared at it. "Some kind of armor?"

"Not exactly," Robin muttered. "High grade leather. Fire-resistant lining. Leather military shirts are made from this material." He produced another baggie and slid the fragment in, sighing as he finished sifting through the pile. "We're done here. I'll take one more sweep around the room, but I think we got everything of interest. There's something I'd like you to do."

Robin reached into a pouch in his cape and tossed his friend a bundle of white, rolled up bags.

Superboy blinked. "Wha--"

"Each bag stretches to more than double its size, and holds a hundred pounds. We're not leaving Reddy here to be locked up in some police evidence locker or claimed by the DEO for their research." His voice was hard, pumped with gravel, the last word tinged with scorn. "With your powers you should be able to gather the remains much faster than me. There's a smaller bag there. Use it for the ... remains of the head. Come find me when you're done."

Superboy blanched as he took the baggies, but nodded, from the look in his eyes, shock had given way to sorrow--and restrained anger. "Where are you going?" He took a step back as Robin shrugged his cape back, his staff extending with a soft click.

Robin's eyepieces narrowed to slits. "I'm going to find Byron."

* * *

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

Robin used his staff to push open a door that had already been half-knocked from its hinges, the torch on his belt giving his Starlight lenses more than enough light to illuminate his path. It was easy to follow their trail. Byron had a habit of beating his way through entryways. _Obviously in a hurry. Where were you going?_ Certainly not towards an exit--Robin didn't have to know the layout of the sublevels to know that he was not only moving towards the center of the structure, but _down_, towards where the vaults would be. No way was Byron trying to get outside.

_Reddy handed them off to a security guard so they'd be safe, and he _abducted _them. If this was a hit on Reddy, the bastard was more than likely in on it. Reddy's not--wasn't--stupid, either; if Byron fooled him he must've had a great disguise. But where the hell is he_ going He rested a hand over his flashbang compartment. _There's nothing down here but storage and locker rooms. For maintenance. No way out, unless_, his eyes narrowed, _Boom Tube. Damn it!_ He quashed the urge to start running. If they were still here, rushing into a trap could get them killed.

He finally came to a rather singular door. It was still on its hinges, and properly closed. _This has to be it. There aren't any other doors down this hall._ He reached for the handle, then stopped. _Too easy. Could be rigged._ He considered. _No matter how anxious I am to get in there, I can't risk blowing myself up now...or something worse._ He narrowed the beam on his torch and unclipped it, moving it very slowly around the door from every conceivable angle. He finished with a thorough examination of the hinges, and the spaces under (and with a little effort) above the door. All in all, the entire process took about two minutes. Reaching for his mask, he tapped twice, switching into infrared mode and starting the process again. If Byron rigged the door without tripwires, any traps more than likely gave off some sort of heat signature. Two more minutes of searching, and he again came up empty.

_Nothing?_ It was definitely (_more corpses?_) a trap of some kind. Byron hadn't been stealthy at all about his path. He _wanted_ to be followed. He backpedaled from the door, tapping his earpiece. "Kon. Where are you?"

Superboy spoke softly, his voice tight. "I ... I'm following the trail of flares you left. Pretty close. I can actually hear you without the communicator. I've ... I have the ..." and his voice cracked slightly, "I've got Reddy."

Robin gulped. "Thanks, Kon. I ... I know that wasn't an easy thing to do."

A long pause. "No. It wasn't. I think ... I just--God, Rob. When Kathy and Traya--and the others--What's next?"  
Robin knew what he was really asking, and was glad he didn't know. Who do we find killed or maimed next? He didn't want to have to answer. Instead, he just sighed. "I need you at the end of the tunnel. Don't worry about stealth. The path is clear." He blinked. There was a rush of air. Superboy stood in front of him, carrying one large white bag, stretched at odd angles, two smaller ones clipped to his belt. If Robin didn't know better, he would've guessed his friend was taking out the trash. From the way the bag seemed to glow, Robin guessed he'd put the remains under his TTK field.

Guarding broken treasure. "The trail ends here, for whatever reason. This guy obviously wasn't security."

"Kidnapping," Kon grunted. It wasn't a question.

Robin just stared at the door. "I've checked for tripwires and other traps, but I haven't come up with anything. Second opinion?"

Kon stared at the door for a solid minute. "I can't pick up anything. Nothing's standing out in the room, either. It's a big closet. Looks like spare lighting equipment for the casino floor, mostly. Definitely nothing moving." Neither of them was going to say it, but both knew there was plenty Kryptonian X-ray vision couldn't pick up.

Robin nodded. "On three, then." Superboy left the bags in a secluded corner.

"On three."

* * *

The door creaked as it opened, Robin entered the room half-crouched as Superboy floated over his head. The Urban Legend quickly rose to his full height as his friend touched down next to him. _Definitely empty._

"Light it up?" Superboy asked. Robin tossed him a flare with a nod, and the half-Kryptonian flew up, bathing the room in harsh white light. Robin disengaged his now useless night vision, but Kon spoke before he had a chance to take in the scene. "Oh _shit_." He stepped away, covering his mouth and shaking his head.

Robin blinked his vision clear and stared after him.

He felt like someone had kicked the wind out of him. The plaster wall sported a vaguely human-sized dent, blood splattered where the head should've been. He shook his head violently, willing himself to remain in control. It was easier this time--after the shock of seeing Reddy, his mind wasn't completely derailed by the comparatively tamer scene. He had to be detached now. He wouldn't be able to accomplish anything if his mind was clouded.

Byron had thrown Kathy--the indentation was too large to be Traya--hard enough to shatter a wall meant to withstand an earthquake. She would be severely wounded, wherever she was. _Definitely too strong to be a normal human._

"Kathy." Superboy had apparently come to the same conclusion. "She could--could still be alive, right?" Expecting, almost demanding, the answer he wanted.

Robin found his voice, small but sure. "I--yes, but if she is she'll be in terrible--" his eyes caught a flash of white and drifted down, and he almost bit his tongue. He knelt, tossing aside a fallen piece of wall to reveal a splotch of red, with a tangle of blonde hair and--"No." Kon knelt next to him, looking confused and ready to be sick. Robin produced a set of short, tweezer-like tongs from his belt, and cleared several strands away from a piece of something coated in red and something spongy and wet. It looked almost like broken tile, about the size of a nickel. "No," he ruthlessly crushed the hitch in his voice and blinked until his vision was clear again. "This ... this is a skull fragment, and it's not the only one down here. It's ... it's full thickness, Kon. Her brain was exposed to oxygen." He reached to his face and pulled up on the lower edges of his mask, swiping furiously at the tears now running down his cheeks. "I don't know why Byron took the ... the body ... but--she's gone." Kon covered his face with his hands, shoulders jerking silently. _Reddy...Kathy...I'm so sorry._ There was a dull buzzing between his ears. Grief, horror, rage, all mingled together and begging for release. He wasn't stupid enough to think he could deny them indefinitely, as Bruce would. But he didn't have to. Just a little longer. _Traya. Where are you?_

Kon's voice almost made him jump. "Was ... do you think she ...?"

Robin laid a hand on his shoulder, not looking at him, pretending it wasn't shaking. "The shock would've left her unconscious. She wouldn't have lasted more than ... more than five minutes after that," he finished gently. He couldn't help thinking he was just practicing what he was going to tell Traya when they found her. Wherever she was. He started to rise, offering his friend a hand. "We can't stop now."

Kon looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. But his eyes caught Robin's attention. They burned with determination and restrained righteous fury. Never could Robin remember seeing him look more like Clark. "Traya."

Robin nodded. "Traya." He started turning slowly in a circle, examining the room.

"But," Kon dabbed at more tears, "what if she's already--?"

"_No_," Robin hissed, jaw clenched. His eyes were stinging more and more, and his vision wasn't right, but he couldn't afford to give up. She was depending on him. "I don't--can't believe that. Byron wouldn't have dragged them all the way here just to kill them both. The hotel was already mostly evacuated. Why go through all this if he just wanted them both dead? He's more than strong enough to have just--no. This is too elaborate. We're missing something." _Think, Robin._ "Let's start from the beginning," he said, stalking back towards the door. Byron would've entered here. You said the witness saw him carrying them in either arm," he stood in the door, facing Superboy, "and he would've made his move fast so neither of them had time to realize what was happening." He glanced to the right. "He threw Kathy in that direction, which means he was holding Traya on his left. Close to this wall." Kon joined him in staring at the offending wall--more specifically the stacked crates of various sizes. There had to be a clue here.

"Well? Aside from being just about the neatest pile of stuff here," Superboy growled, "I'm not seeing anything suspicious."

Robin blinked. Then blinked again. "You're right. The rest of this place is a mess. What makes this stuff any different?"

Superboy took a step back, and stared hard. "They're not lead lined--and there's nothing unusual in them. Just lights and stands and crap." He frowned, rubbing his eyes. "You think...?"

Robin narrowed his eyes. "Let's find out." He backed up as Superboy placed a palm on the nearest crate, watching as a soft blue glow encased every single one. Kon straightened his arm and floated up, lifting the entire collection from the ground and floating a good six feet back. They moved around to the back.

Next to him, Kon growled a curse. The wall wasn't cracked this time, but the small dried rivulets running towards the floor were unmistakably blood. In spite of himself, he felt the dread in his heart diminish. "She's still alive," he said quickly. _At least she was when she was taken from here._ "There's much less blood here. No damage to the wall, except..." he ran his fingers over a pair of dents, "these." He curved his fingers on both hands, as though he were holding a baseball bat in each, and put them against the wall. "He held her against the wall. His nails cut into her arms." By the last word, his voice shook. "_Bastard._"

"So she's alive, but some nutcase has her," Superboy hissed, his tone echoing the fury in his eyes. "But, I don't get it. This guy and his buddies have a grudge against us, and that includes Reddy, so I can see where they wouldn't hesitate to ... but why kidnap Traya? They don't seriously think they could ransom her or something like that, do they? They can't expect--they _killed them!_ They've gotta know the second we can we'll come down on them like--"

"They know," Robin said softly. It was all clicking together. This had _nothing_ to do with ransom. His friend looked close to hyperventilating. "Think about it. They don't want to ransom Traya. They blew up every JLA teleporter hub in the country just to make it harder for us to figure out what was going on. You heard that guy. Do you think he would hesitate to orphan one more kid if it meant making our lives just that much more hellish? He doesn't want to fight us directly until he's brought us as low as he can."

Superboy looked ready to vomit. "You're serious, aren't you? How can you be so damn _calm_ about _that_?"

It was a fair question. "I've seen it before," he said softly. "Bane didn't break Batman's back until he'd done everything he could to mentally and physically exhaust him, bring him down as far as he could. Breaking every murderer, rapist, and maniac out of Arkham wasn't as ... personal ... as what this monster's doing to us, but it's the same tactic. Bane didn't give a damn how many innocents he hurt in the process, and neither does this guy. He's counting on us finding Traya. Once we do we'll have a broken child to watch over, we'll be that much more preoccupied. Traya, Kathy, all those guards at the hubs ... all just tools."

"_Monster_," Kon ground out. "We're fighting a monster. No better than Darkseid or Luthor."

_Yeah._ "We'll find him. I'm not going to let us be run into the ground." Robin sighed. "We've done all we can here. We need to find Kathy. Byron wouldn't have hidden her without a reason. We find her, we find Traya." He started moving for the door, Kon at his side. _Scavenger hunt. Jesus._

"She could be anywhere, though," Kon frowned. "Where do we start?"

"We're looking for a dead body that we're _supposed_ to find," Robin took one look around, looking for anything else out of place and coming up empty. "We start with the morgues."

Superboy nodded grimly. "Ti--Rob--what ... what do we tell the others?"

Robin felt the now-familiar cold hand clench once more around his heart. "I ... I don't know, but we can't ... we can't tell them this over the comms. Let's go."

_Kathy, Reddy, if you can hear me, I swear to you, I'll find her._

* * *

It was pandemonium all over again. Dana wondered if any of them would notice if she and Jack vanished into thin air. _Well, Greta would. She's been watching us._ Dana shook her head. _She'd probably cheer if it was just Jack._ She hadn't realized Tim could be that dense--he seemed not to understand why the girl didn't like his father. It was obvious enough she adored Tim. She was going to give the cold shoulder to anyone who she considered to be hurting him, no matter who they were.

_That's great Dana, but you're really distracting yourself from the issue at hand._ Jack leaned towards her ear. "Dana...that boy's _really_ green," Jack breathed, "I thought it was some kind of gimmick."

Dana just shook her head, taking in the scene. A few minutes ago another alarm had gone off. She was sure they were under attack, but Greta had started cheering and Alfred (who had stopped by to check on them, looking grim) was grinning from ear to ear. After getting the new arrivals out of the snow and getting them settled in the War Room and updated on the current situation, he'd returned to the infirmary with just a bit more bounce in his step.

The older Titans had arrived, and they'd brought a friend.

"Easy, Spooky," the messy-haired man known as Snapper Carr grinned at Greta, patting her head as she caught him in a bear hug, "I'm not going anywhere. I would've been here sooner, but it took forever to convince those doctors I didn't have a serious head injury." He was in ripped jeans and a torn shirt with the Flash logo on it, and sported a black eye and a bandage on his forehead. "I act like this all the time."

Dana shuddered. _Car bomb._ He told Alfred he'd been standing ten feet away when he deactivated the car alarm, and the explosive still flipped him over and blew him through a Sharper Image's front window display. Luckily, he'd landed in a pile of inflatable pool toys. Still, as soon as the hospital had let him go he'd "called in a favor" and gotten a helicopter flight to Titans Tower in San Francisco, and had been helping Raven with the search ever since.

"We were so worried," She stepped back, beaming at him. "Tim and Kon will be so happy to see you." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought I asked you not to call me Spooky." She didn't seem annoyed in the least.

"Yeah," he grinned. "You start calling me Snapper instead of Mr. Carr, and I'll get right on that." She just hugged him again and shook her head. He smirked softly.

Dana blinked. _Spooky?_ _Why would anyone call her that?_

Not far away, the green boy in question, who had introduced himself as Garfield Logan, was sitting on a newly sprung-from-the-wall couch, shirtless, sporting dozens of bruises and scrapes. Next to him (_His girlfriend?_) Raven, looking very concerned but doing everything she could to hide it, was rubbing his injured shoulder, hands glowing blue. Dana watched in awe as the bones seemed to slip back into place painlessly, and the torn skin began to knit itself at inhuman speeds. Jack's eyes bugged out of his head. After another minute she was starting to sweat, and Garfield gently grabbed her hands.

"That's enough, Rae. Between digging us out and this, I don't want you to burn yourself out." He frowned. "Something tells me we're all going to need our strength. And hey," he rotated his shoulder, grinning at her, "you fixed the fracture and stopped the bleeding. The rest is just cosmetic. Thank you."

"Any time," she rubbed at her eyes and looked away. "No, I take that back. Next time you let a building fall on you, I ... I'll tie you to a hospital bed and force you to eat real bacon." She said this with such a deadpan voice, Dana couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Gar frowned at her a moment before taking her hand.

"Wow. Sounds kinda kinky." Dana looked towards the speaker, who insisted she call him Vic. His smile was forced, almost dutiful, as though he figured they expected him to say it. Combined with his scraped, cracked, and in some places significantly damaged mechanical implants, it made him look rather grim. Even Garfield's swat seemed reflexive. Something in one of Vic's legs sparked. "Aw ... damn it. I'm gonna have to replace this whole joint before I go back out. And my left sonic amplifier." The space between his right shoulder and torso sparked. He groaned, shaking his head. "Whatever. At least we made it."

Bart appeared next to him. "You want some help, Vic?" He vibrated in place, looking hopeful. "I memorized all your schematics--theonesyouputonthecomputer,anyway--if you need an extra hand."

Dana had only met him five minutes ago, but she was quite certain from the look on his face Vic was trying to think of a way to say no without hurting Bart's feelings. He was saved from having to answer when another alarm went off. Bart zipped across the room.

"Guys! Boom Tube in the landing bay. I'mbringingupvid--"

"Superboy and Robin," Raven said flatly, eyes closed. They snapped open just as quickly. "Bart, summon everyone here. Now."

"What happened?" Greta said, so quietly Dana could barely hear her. Snapper placed a hand loosely on her shoulder, looking grim.

"I don't know," Raven said. "But ... something's wrong."

Jack stiffened. "_What?_" Dana felt a chill go down her spine.

"Your son is physically fine," Raven said, the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice. She stood with Garfield. "No, I fear something worse has happened. He's desperate to see all of you, yet at the same time dreading it. And there's something else..."

"Wait," Greta said, voice firm, "you said Tim and Kon. What about Reddy? Kathy and Traya?"

Dana had never really believed someone could drop the temperature in a room with nothing more than a look, but at the look in the older teenager's eyes, she felt as though she'd been dipped in ice water. "I can't sense them." Bart nearly stumbled on his feet, the older male Titans swearing softly.

Greta shook her head. "That might mean anything. They could've been kidnapped, or hiding somewhere else, or ... anything." Dana thought she sounded desperate, and behind her, Snapper was looking ill and unsure of himself.

_Tim._ Jack wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Bart started paging everyone as Greta pulled away from a stunned looking Snapper to stare at the door, hugging herself. _Tim, what happened, baby?_

* * *

Robin didn't know whether to thank Raven for gathering everyone up, or pull her into an alcove and strangle her. _So much for getting ready._ He knew it had to have been her--he'd learned to recognize her probes, and she had touched his mind the moment they'd returned, taking a reading and sending a bolt of reassurance down their connection. It did little to improve his mood--she had no idea what they'd seen.

In the end he did neither, too thrilled to see the older Titans and Snapper in one basically whole piece to move. He made a mental note to learn exactly what had happened to them as soon as possible, but--he repressed a shudder--he had other duties to attend. They were all there when he and Superboy stepped through the entryway, either in person or--as in the case of Bonnie, Anita, and Leslie--a floating head on the main monitor bank. Oddly, everyone was silent, gazing at them almost apprehensively.

It took him all of three seconds to register these things, which was fortunate, as it took Greta only slightly more time to cross the room and plow into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, wordlessly laying her head on his chest, if only for a moment. He returned her embrace, feeling all at once more solid than he had since he'd found Reddy's corpse. Even as she once again momentarily overwhelmed his senses, he was dimly aware of Kon racing across the room to catch Wonder Girl in a hug that would crush a normal human. He both loved and hated the mask then--it kept Greta from immediately reading the horror surely lingering in his eyes, so he had a few seconds to bask in her presence without having to tell her the truth. At the same time, a part of him knew he was hiding from her, and that would never do. _I've got to tell her. I've got to tell them all._ He gulped, readying to speak. His parents were coming up behind her, Dana leading the way with worried eyes, his father looking ... relieved?

But apparently she already knew _something_ had gone wrong; she pulled away and looked up at him, chewing hard on her lip.

She finally seemed to find her voice. "What happened? Where are Reddy and the others? Why ... why aren't they with you?"

She knew. They _all_ knew. He blinked. _How?_ Then it hit him, and he felt like an idiot. _Raven._ It really was impossible to sneak up on an empath with bad news. He looked across the room to where she was lounging with Gar. She looked noticeably apprehensive. _He's probably the only thing keeping her from bolting off to meditate._ "Greta," he began softly, Kon and Cassie making their way over on his right, "everybody ... I ... I ..." he'd had it all planned out in his head. He was going to walk in, get their attention, and lay out what he'd found as gently as possible, but he hadn't expected to start out with everyone staring at him like they all knew something was wrong but no one wanted to admit it, and his brain had taken the opportunity to finally overload on what he'd seen.

"Tim? What's wrong, son?" His father apparently found his loss for words disconcerting enough not to have to bite off every word, and to forget they weren't really on friendly terms for the moment.

Kon, who'd just finished whispering something to Cassie, both pale and teary and clutching each other as they floated in the air, opened his mouth to bail Tim out, but another beat him to it.

"Something happened to them. Something bad." It was Greta, and it wasn't a question. She was blinking furiously, and the muscles around her mouth and chin were tight and quivering. Her trembling hand had found his at some point. Or was that he shaking? Or both of them? He really couldn't tell. But the room had gone silent. Everyone was waiting.

As often happened when he was near her, his mouth was moving of its own will. "... Yes." And just like that, the ball of emotions he'd been carefully suppressing burst, and he felt his legs trying to give out from under him again. Greta had thrown herself into him, but it was wrong somehow. She was too shaky and his legs felt like someone had violently ripped all the muscle out. It took all his willpower to hold back tears. _We're holding each other up._ "It's bad." He pulled off the mask. She took one look at him and squeezed even harder. "Let's sit down. I ... I need to sit down." Everyone was looking at him with varying degrees of shock. Obviously, he wasn't supposed to act this way. "Kon and I will explain everything."

"That sounds like a good idea," Greta said soothingly. For a split second, he was tempted to pretend it was just the two of them, but he knew what'd he would do then. And he couldn't afford to let his emotions run away with him. Not yet.

Superboy nodded. "Right. Uh ... we need a place to sit, I guess. Computer! Big round table, seats for everybody. _Now._"

* * *

Dana felt herself trembling, even as she tightened her grip on Jack. She knew something was wrong with Tim the moment she laid eyes on him, even if she had no idea _what_. She had seen him in the Robin suit for months, in sorts of moods, but there was always that unshakable aura of control about him when the mask was on. Even when it was off, most of the time. When she stopped and thought about it, she realized that collectedness and restrained drive he exuded had to be a vital part of what made being around him feel like being around a superhero, and not just some kid in a (really nice) Halloween costume.

The more she'd thought about it over the months, the more she came to realize that sort of _presence_ had to be critical to being taken seriously by people he was trying to help. Or trying to fight. Up until burst through the ceiling, she'd never had any idea what that aura might look like when it was in full effect.

Whatever he had seen, that presence had been violently ripped away from him, and he was just her Tim in a mask. Her first instinct had been to run to him--even Jack was starting to move, thank the Lord--but then Tim had noticed them all there, and the look on his face, even with eyes hidden--a split second of fear and panic--was enough to stop them both in their tracks.

Dana blanched at the almost desperate way Tim hugged his girlfriend. He didn't seem to know what to say when Greta had asked him what happened, and that was scarier than she wanted to admit; Tim was _never_ speechless. Jack had managed to find his voice, but Tim had still just stood there looking like a suffocating fish. Then it had hit her--he didn't know how to tell them. That filled her with dread, and he hadn't even been standing there a full minute.

Greta, in another spectacular display of how much better she knew their son than they did (_At least _someone _does..._) took one really good look at his face, mask and all, and read him like a book.

"Something happened to them. Something bad."

That snapped him out of it. She heard Jack breathe a sigh of relief even as the two teenagers (_They're only teenagers..._) sagged against each other, Tim confirming Greta's suspicions.

A dour calm seemed to sweep the room anew--at least, if the way everyone suddenly paled and grimaced as a stainless steel table and chairs suddenly grew from the floor meant what she thought it did. She felt it too, like every bit of warmth had been sucked out of the room. The idea of speaking before Tim completely gathered his wits seemed ... _wrong_ ... somehow.

She had shuddered as they all sat, a single pair of thoughts reverberating through her head.

Superheroes aren't supposed to act like this. Tim isn't supposed to act like this. Every time she'd ever seen Superman or any other costumed hero on the news or in photos, they were always beaming. Ready to take on the world. But the people in the room with her now--the ones that weren't complete outsiders like she and Jack--had suddenly aged twenty years, and all of them looked to Tim like he was a pastor at a funeral. Snapper and Gar, who had earlier seemed incapable of anything but rakish grins, looked especially grim. Bart vibrated so fast in his seat it made her dizzy to look at him too long. Jack's arm anchored around her shoulders like he was afraid she'd float away if he let go. Their eyes ... it was obvious this wasn't the first time they all sat through something like this.

A funeral. They all knew, right then, exactly where their missing friends were. What came next happened only because it had to. The facts had to be laid out properly before everyone jumped to conclusions. Before they could grieve. She didn't understand how Tim could hold it together as well as he had. By the time he managed to start speaking, the sense of unreality was so great she felt sure she'd wake up in her bed at any moment, curled against Jack and wondering how she would get her boys back together.

But Tim had started speaking, after opening a channel to the person he called Oracle with his earpiece and telling him/her/it he had "found something" and to "stand by for details." As she listened with escalating shock and horror as he described what they found, with help from Kon when he got too emotional to speak himself, in painstaking, near-emotionless detail, reality seemed to return. The part of Tim that was Robin seemed to reassert itself with a vengeance; one deep breath and straightened back and the Urban Legend was back, if grimmer and more subdued than before. The feeling of being in the same room as real superheroes, with plans and everything, was back too, but emotion hung around them like fog. Everyone seemed to know it was only a matter of minutes before the other shoe dropped.

Or less.

"... After we cleared the showroom," Robin--even with the mask off, the cold fire and ... something else ... in his eyes made it impossible for her to think of him as Tim--"we moved backstage. That's where we found," he took another steadying breath, moving even closer to his girlfriend as his voice dropped, "Bronzemarsh and the stage crew. All dead. The killer likely had some kind of large bladed weapon, and knew exactly how to kill quickly and efficiently ... though there was a high degree of post-mortem mutilation..."

Gasps of shock and disgust all around. Greta covered her mouth with her free hand, but didn't take her eyes off Tim as he continued. Dana found herself riveted, and from what she could see of him out of the corner of her eye, Jack was too. But she wasn't really thinking about what he was saying--it would be impossible to stay calm if she stopped and thought about how he described the cadavers and their wounds--but rather how he said it: the clinical detachment of a medical examiner mixed with suppressed fury. All around him, the others faced shifted from dread to varying degrees of anger, but he didn't really seem to be paying attention. Or maybe he was. For the first time, even with the mask off, she couldn't really tell what he was thinking.

"...there had obviously been a major fight. We continued to check the room and ... and ..." a deep breath, and Dana and Jack bolted straight in their chairs with Greta as tears ran down Tim's cheeks. He started speaking faster. "There's--there's no easy way to say this. We found the body. Reddy's," his voice hitched, "he's dead. Kathy's--her body's missing, but I found evidence of fatal skull fracture. Traya's been kidnapped, and definitely suffered at least minor wounds."

Silence.

Everyone in the room went slack. Dana felt her eyes start to sting as the murmuring began. Everyone was still trying to find their voice half a second later, she was busy trying to melt into Jack and fight down the bile in her throat, and wasn't sure if it was for the news or the pain in Tim's eyes as he delivered it.

* * *

I did it. Robin covered his mouth with his hands as he finished speaking. Not for the first time since this whole mess had started, he was hit with the feeling of how saying something made it impossible to take it back. Babs swore loudly in his ear, and he thought he heard Alfred and Leslie gasp. His eyes darted around the room, looking for reactions. All he could make out was pure shock. Bart wasn't moving. At all. The comforting presence of Greta's hand over his was suddenly gone. She covered her mouth and leaned into him, strangled gasps escaping her lips. Oh, God. What have I done?

"What?" Cassie found her voice first. "What? No! There has to be some mistake. They can't both be dead!" Kon started weeping with her. Cyborg's good arm smashed into the table as he covered his face with his hand, leaving a huge dent that almost instantly began healing itself.

"Great Scott. I've seen him, Martha. Built like a tank..." Jonathan. Low and disbelieving.

"And his wife," Martha breathed. "They orphaned that girl..."

"Dead?" Bart whispered, tears streaming down his face. "But Reddycan'tbedeadcausewecanrebuildhim. AndKathycan'tdiecausewecan'tbringherbackifshedoes. I'mnotfastenoughtogobackandfixitandWallywouldn't--" His voice dissolved into an indecipherable buzz. Dana was close enough to try putting a hand on his shoulder, but gasped when it went straight through.

"Bart," Cissie's strained voice floated gently from one of the monitors. "Calm down, sweetie. It'll be okay. Come here." He disappeared suddenly from his chair, reappearing next to Cissie on the monitor. She whispered something in his ear, and he slowed down enough for her to wrap her arms around his waist.

"No," Beast Boy shook his head. "Not again." Raven took his hand in both of hers, staring at it intently.

"Both of them," Snapper rubbed his palms in his eyes. "She can't lose both of them."

"Shit," Agent Maad scowled at the room. "And APES isn't moving on this. Tactically infeasible my ass. They're probably throwing a damn party."

Anita said something in Cajun French, too low for Robin to decipher. Then, "what now, mon? What the hell do we do now?"

Can't let us lose control. Gotta take charge if before all of us lose it. His own emotions were fighting him again. "Everybody calm down," he said, infusing his voice with as much command authority as he could muster. "We can't let ourselves lose it. That's what they want." God, that sounds so cold.

"Easier said then done, Robin," Barbara's tightly controlled voice whispered in his ear. "They're not all trained like we are."

"How?" Dana stared at him. "You just--"

"W-we have to, ma'am." Greta's watery whisper wafted across the room. She raised her voice, addressing them all. "Tim wouldn't tell us that if he wasn't absolutely sure. It's Reddy and Kathy." She sobbed, and looked at Robin. Violently red splotches had exploded across her face, her mouth twisted into a painful grimace. "You're sure she's dead? I mean...she wasn't there..."

Robin wrapped an arm around her. "I found...someone threw her into the wall. There was--there were pieces of her skull on the floor. Full thickness. She couldn't have lived through that. As for Reddy, I brought the remains back. His neural net's been completely destroyed. We can't ... we can't fix that."

Greta kept sobbing, staring at her lap. "Not fair..." His hand found a specific compartment on his belt and he produced a handful of tissues, pressing them into her free hand. But then she took a deep breath, and stared up at them all. He barely held back a gasp. Tears streamed unhindered down her face, but her eyes--her eyes were lit with anger and purpose he hadn't seen since Darksied deactivated her metagene. "You said--you said that bastard killed them and took Traya. We've got to take her back. She doesn't have anyone else, and Reddy's counting on us. And that means pulling ourselves together, right now."

Oracle whistled in his ear. "That approach works, too. Good girl."

Don't I know it. Thanks for sticking with me, angel. Robin squeezed her shoulders, reaffixing his mask with his free hand. "She's got us." The effect was instantaneous. All around the room confusion and grief faded to the back as focus and determination took the fore. The slightest bit of awe shone in Dana's eyes, and his father looked again like a caveman dropped in New York City.

Cyborg smiled thinly. "Damn right."

"We're with you," Kon crossed his arms, floating into the air with a dour Cassie. The Kents looked at him approvingly. If anything, they always taught their boys to keep cool under pressure.

"So what's the plan, Tim?" Vic asked.

Robin started. Part of him was sure Vic would want to assert his authority. He had every right as a senior Titan.

Apparently, Vic noticed his hesitation. "Hey, man. I've spent most of my day fighting for my life and trying to dig Gar and me out of the gaping hole that used to be our house. Right now, you've had more experience with everything that's going on and I know you've got some kind of plan in that head of yours. Go ahead. I'll let you know if I think you're doing something stupid," he finished with a faint smirk.

"What he said," Gar joined in. Raven just nodded as a wave of encouragement washed over him.

"You heard them, Current Boy Wonder. I'll be monitoring the conference room's audio feeds. Oracle out." She sounded a bit distracted. He figured she was still busy trying to bring her systems back up. She would have announced if she was back in business.

Showtime, Robin. "Whoever did this wasn't entirely careful, and left forensic evidence at the scene. Various blood samples. I started running them through the system before I came up here. We're looking at an hour at least before we know if we have a match."

"That seems a little bit slow," his father offered. Dana glared at him, but Robin nodded.

"Much too slow. Apparently whatever sort of attack was used against our comms and the various civil service networks targeted the DNA databanks as well. All the high-speed links are offline, and taking the backdoor in only slows things down more. I'm also running a background check on the Byron guy I mentioned earlier. Something doesn't add up there. Regardless, we'll have to wait a bit for answers."

"What--what about Traya?" Greta managed.

Robin sighed. This won't be pleasant. "Whoever did this didn't leave much evidence where they were going. Makes sense if you think about it--Boom Tubes are the pinnacle of traceless entry and exit. But Kathy's body is missing. She...wouldn't have lasted very long. It doesn't make sense for them to have taken her to a hospital, so there was no reason for them to move her, unless--"

"Scavenger hunt," Ishido growled.

"Exactly," Robin scowled. "We're dealing with people that enjoy watching us run around. There's no reason to take the body unless they want to make us spend time looking for it, especially considering the way they left the backstage area littered with corpses. Once we find it, we'll more than likely find clues pointing to Traya. They want us to find her. She's going to be in bad shape. If we have to take care of her, so the logic goes, we'll be less able to fight back. In the meantime, we're putting all our effort into tracking her down."  
"Monstrous," Leslie hissed. "To use the lives of others like that..."

"Indeed," Alfred shook his head.

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've set up a search program to scan every morgue in North America for Jane Does matching Kathy's description. She should definitely be in the system by now. We'll have results in twenty minutes. Whoever did this wasn't smart enough to take those databanks' high-speed links out."

"So, we just wait?" Greta scowled.

"I'm afraid so, beautiful. Kon and I went over everything there. There was nothing to indicate where either of them were. If that search comes up empty, we probably won't be able to find her until we can get a better lead on who's behind this, and that'll take far longer."

"But we're not just going to sit here and wait," Robin continued, the final pieces of his plan clicking together in his mind. He clicked his earpiece. "Oracle?"

"Go ahead, Robin."

"I know you're busy, but I need your help. Gar? Raven?"

"Yes?" Raven nodded.

"I need you to go back to the Tower. Find a whole specimen of the attackers--or at least, enough pieces to make a whole specimen. Oracle will be standing by. Make contact and you'll get directions to Jason Blood in Gotham. He'll figure out what makes those things tick. Oracle will make sure he's expecting you."

"_Ugh. That'll be a fun conversation. On it. Anything else?"_

"Yeah," Robin frowned. "How soon before we have normal communications again?"

"_Thirty minutes at most. Longer if Blood is an ass and I _really _have to convince him. I had to do a complete wipe and re-image. It'll a bit longer than that to figure out what happened in the first place."_

"Damn. Robin out." He cut the connection. "Both of you, get moving as soon as you can. Good luck."

"Don't worry, man," Gar managed a small grin as he rose, Raven at his side.

"We'll take care of it," Raven smiled thinly as they turned to leave.

"Vic," Robin turned to the cyborg, "do you need any help repairing yourself?"

"Couldn't hurt," the older man returned gruffly, surveying the room. "Carr. You up for a little tinkering?"

Snapper nodded. "Kon. You think you could show us to a workroom? I always get lost in this place."

"No problem," Superboy said.

"We'll have you back in working order in no time, Vic," Snapper said. "It'll be a snap." he finished, snapping his fingers.

"Ishido?" Robin turned to face him. "How much pull do you really have with APES?"

Ishido raised an eyebrow. "Depends. What do you have in mind?"

Robin narrowed his eyes. "I need to know what they are really up to, at the highest levels. What do they know, and just how far are they willing to go to take advantage of the situation? I don't want to put us in a position to get blindsided. I'm also still interested in those casualty numbers and status reports on all major population centers." _It would be nice to know how much of the law enforcement infrastructure is still functioning._

The agent smirked. "You do realize they wouldn't give any of that to you by choice." He shook his head. "I'll see what I can do."

Robin frowned. "For now, we can't really do much more. Everything will change when we start getting search results back." He looked to the monitors. Cissie was still holding Bart by the waist, but he looked far more together.

"Cassie," he continued. "Are you comfortable leaving for a while?"

She looked forlornly across the table. "Mom ... she's still not awake yet. I want to be around when she wakes up, but," her eyes hardened. "I want to get back at these bastards more. What do you need?"

_Oh boy. That's not going to turn out well. No time to deal with it now._ "Kon has Byron's address. Once he's free, I want you to scout it out. If it looks like you're going to have a fight on your hands, call for back-up first."

"Got it," she smiled grimly. "We'll turn the place inside out."

Robin cleared his throat. "Bart? Are you okay?"

Bart's amber eyes stared into the camera, huge and watery. "I ... I don't know, Tim. What do you need me to do?"

Robin gentled his voice. "For right now? Just concentrate on pulling yourself together. That goes for everybody. I know you feel like the ground's been pulled out from under you--I do too." _And soon enough, it's really going to hit me, and I'm going to crash. Gotta keep it together for now, though._ "As horrendous as all this is, the _only_ reason it's happened is to make all of us suffer and grieve, so we'll be weaker when he finally decides to really try and kill us. We _cannot_ allow our friends _murders_ to overwhelm us to the point that we're unable to catch the _murderers_. It's not just about justice for Kathy and Reddy and Traya." Tears, violently swept aside. "Everyone else these people hurt," Cassie lowered her eyes, "and plan to hurt is depending on us." He felt a cold rage building somewhere deep in his chest. "And no matter what, we won't let them down."

Bart blinked several times. "We--no, I won't."

* * *

Robin nodded. "Most of you have assignments, and those of you who don't probably have places you'd rather be, so I'm not going to keep you here anymore. I'll call everyone back in as soon as we hear something."

Greta stood up as the room began to empty, a lost look in her puffy, red eyes. "I ... I need to go see my mother." She looked at Robin. "I..."

His brain abruptly shifted gears, and he put on a reassuring smile. "Want some company?"

She nodded, pressing into his side. "Yes."

He wrapped an arm around her. "We'll get through this," he whispered as they walked out.

"I know." Her mouth twitched, a failed smile. "But what about Traya?" She hiccupped roughly. "She doesn't even know her parents are gone. She's all alone."

He felt his chest constrict. "We'll get her back, beautiful. I don't know what'll happen after that, but she'll have us, just like you said." _But she'll have to go somewhere. But where? Maybe--_he crushed that train of thought. _Not the time._

He watched the determination flood into her eyes, felt it surge up within himself. "And we're not going anywhere." She nodded once, and he watched her hair bounce.

"No. We're not."


	12. Ice Cream Phoenix

AN: Part two of Chapter 11. It's a bit shorter than usual, as I split up this section mainly because it just would've been obnoxiously big as one chapter. As usual, I own nothing. It'll take a bit longer to get the next chapter out, as none of it's written yet, though the outline is in place. In the meantime, all feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Alfred found the control that closed the connection to the war room, and ended the feed. The moment the screen went dark and he was sure none of his charges could see--and he considered almost all of them his responsibility, to varying degrees--he finally allowed the emotionless mask to slip from his face, shoulders slumping and back sagging in a manner quite unsuitable for a gentleman's gentleman.

He sighed as he pushed himself to his feet, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders and crushing, absolutely and ruthlessly, that tiny little voice that tended, more often lately, to wonder how much longer he would be able to watch over them all before his body finally wearied of the struggle. His mind had over the years been forced to deal with atrocity after atrocity. The pain of Miss Barbara's senseless injury and Master Jason's death still burned fresh and raw when he let down his defenses, the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne was that singular event one never contemplated lest one fall into a morass of imagining, for hours on end, how Master Bruce's life _could_ have been, if only. _If only I had found the strength to derail his drive for vengeance. No. That's not accurate. Justice._

But _nothing _hurt so readily and anguished so thoroughly as observing the daily torture Bruce and his students put themselves through in their unending war. He could only watch from the sidelines as Master Timothy and his friends were brutally assaulted, their lives irrecoverably altered--a mother blinded, a child left orphaned and destitute, snatched away for who knew what heinous purpose by monsters who defied comprehension--solely for the sin of the purest altruism. Yet they fought, Master Timothy subtly giving himself the most dangerous of their tasks, just as Bruce would, and would keep fighting until the last.

But so long as he drew breath he would remain, doing whatever his comparatively meager skill allowed to keep them going.

He started as a pair of slender arms wrapped around him from behind, Leslie's breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. "Care to come back, love? Or should I leave you to ponder your reflection in peace?" The forced humor did little to cover her fatigue, almost completely overwhelmed by the righteous fury that seemed to have taken permanent residence in her eyes. Yet, in spite of the situation, he still thought the sound melodious.

He turned to face her, taking her thin hands in his. "My apologies, Leslie. I'm afraid I got lost in my thoughts for a moment." _Absolutely true. Useless thing to say._

She nodded, steel-grey eyes focused on some distant point. "Did you know either of them?"

He shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Master Bruce respects Red Tornado--his approval was required before the man could become mentor to Young Justice--but never worked with him that closely. Batman greatly appreciates his commitment to his family, especially in light of somewhat recent ... personal problems, but given that he was originally created to destroy the League, trust has always been an issue."

"Isn't it always?" she folded her arms, shaking her head. "What about the girl? I prey those maniacs haven't traumatized her too much."

He scowled suddenly. "You must realize, my dear, that is a prayer very likely to go unanswered. I met her once, after driving Master Timothy to St. Elias for a rendezvous with Miss Greta--he'd just concussed himself, and wasn't quite ready to retake the wheel." The scowl deepened. "She is a delightful child, with an intellect, I am to understand, that may very well rival Master Timothy's someday."

A rare snarl broke across Leslie's lovely face, and Alfred realized a moment too late his ill choice of words. "_If_ she's not completely shattered. You and I both _know_ what things like this do to children--what it did to Bruce. And no one kidnapped and did God knows what to him afterwards." She moved forward, laying her head on his shoulder.

_Ah. The crux of the matter._ "Yes," he said soothingly. "But at the same time, Traya witnessed the deaths of neither of her parents. And if memory serves, we put such a child back together before. Definitely not in the way we would have preferred, but he has nonetheless turned out extraordinary. We will do what is necessary for her as well. And this time, we shall have help. Master Bruce and those who fight with him will surely offer aid. As will her friends here and her father's associates. This vile man's plans notwithstanding, she _will_ survive."

She smiled faintly then, but the veiled anger still hadn't left her eyes. "And what about us, Alfred? What's wrong with us? Every part of me says I have every right to scream and rail, and I want to grieve for that poor girl and her parents and that woman in there that won't ever see again, but I just sit here and stew and brood like ... like..."

"Master Bruce." Alfred nodded curtly. His face softened, and he looked deeply into her eyes. "I am afraid, dear lady, we are entirely too far gone. We both know we can't watch over them if we allow ourselves to fall into disarray. And perhaps," he felt his own anger surging as he looked towards the table Leslie had taken as her desk, the files Timothy had retrieved with Ellen Hayes spread across it, along with the notes he and Leslie made during their own clandestine exam, "we are too busy fighting our own private war against a far more human cruelty to feel the full emotion of what is going on around us."

Righteous anger flared in her eyes. "We'll have to tell Greta soon. She has every right to know."

"Yes," he nodded solemnly. "Though it still seems a crime to knowingly ignite what is sure to be incredible fury in one who has worked so diligently to master her rage. I do not look forward to the affect this will have on her. I only hope Master Timothy will be up to the challenge--she will need him more than ever."

"He will be. And we're only the messengers, Alfred," Leslie whispered.

"Yes, my dear," he put an arm around her waist, "and in war, the messenger is often shot."

* * *

When Greta told him she needed to see her mother, this wasn't quite what Robin had in mind. He stood against a sheet of translucent crystal that passed for a wall, Greta leaning against him and wrapped up in his arms, and watched her stare mesmerized at the observation monitor outside her mother's room. Ellen Hayes slept peacefully on the display, but he couldn't help but wonder if Greta had felt so awkward and useless when Janet Drake's birthday rolled around and he asked her to come with him when he visited the grave.

Of course, Ellen Hayes wasn't dead, but most of the time she was completely cut off. And if Greta wasn't up to going in the room with her right now, he certainly had no problem with it--she'd seen him lose it and start bawling when the anniversary of his mother's death rolled around and he was stupid enough not to make sure he was too busy to really stop and think about it. _Excuse to ask her to come to the grave._ She was too small to scoop him into her lap--he would probably end up cutting off the blood to her legs if she did--but she had crushed him to her anyway, stroking his hair and whispering words he couldn't remember into his ear until he pulled himself together.

_I can't fix this_, he thought, watching her reflection in the wall-crystal and putting everything he had into not wincing at the maelstrom of emotion there, _but if she needs me here, then I'm here. Still, doesn't feel _nearly _good enough._ He let his eyes fall on Ellen, so like her daughter it gave him chills if he looked at her face long enough. Her straight jacket was looser. Much looser. _Alfred and Leslie. Would explain that weird look in her eyes during the meeting. She didn't say anything though. _Maybe he'd been wrong somehow. _Right. More likely Leslie wasn't about to go announcing Greta's personal business to everyone and their mom. If I don't hear from her soon, I'll have to see what the deal is. I can't keep Greta in the dark like this._ Traya's face flashed in his mind's eye. _Be brave, sweetheart. We'll find you soon. ...And shatter everything you know. Damn it._

Greta's voice shook him out of his stewing. "Tim?" She didn't look at him.

"Yeah?" he breathed into her hair, inhaling strawberries and soap.

"How did you deal with it, when your dad was ill?" she asked quietly.

He was glad she couldn't see his wince. Oh, he'd had an _excellent_ coping mechanism. "Honestly? I buried myself in training, and after that, actually being Robin. I couldn't--just sitting there looking at him, comatose day after day--I did everything I could to stay away. Even though we haven't been really close since I was little, seeing him like that, it was just easier to be somewhere else." He looked away from her reflection. "Pretty cowardly, huh?"

"No," she murmured, turning to lay her head over his heart. Somehow she'd figured out how to do it without cutting herself on the R; he never figured that out. "Tell you a secret. Remember how I said she counts the days? Some days, when it really, really gets to me, the only way I can make myself go is to remind myself she'll be expecting me, whoever she thinks I am, and she needs it more than I do. If it had been like that for you, you would've done the same. But your dad was in a coma. That's completely different. You just had to watch him laying there, not doing anything." She sighed. "We really go for it, don't we?"

He nodded into her hair, lips twitching up. "You bet. But consider the atmosphere. Who we spend time with. Bruce isn't exactly sunshine and roses, and it kind of rubs off. Are you really surprised we're such a mess?"

She laughed, and he felt a grin rolling across his face. As long as he could make her do that, they'd be okay. "At least I get to be a mess with you."

He kissed the top of her head. "Wouldn't have it any other way." She relaxed against him again, but before he could say anything else, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _What the?_

"Hey," she looked up at him, eyes wide, "do you feel something funny?"

"Yeah," he stood up straight, senses on full alert, "I--"

"Should remain calm," a strangely familiar voice echoed through the room as a green figure started to materialize in front of them. "I assure you both, I mean no harm."

Robin didn't have time to panic before the being was floating in front of them. A second later, he realized who he was looking at, and even if he wasn't about to panic, he couldn't say he was very happy.

"_Hal?_" Greta gaped.

The Spectre deciding to drop in on you never meant anything good. Robin felt Greta scoot closer to him. Apparently she found the sudden arrival of her one-time mentor just as unsettling as he did. And given Hal's history with Greta--_No way. No way would he dare come here and..._ "Spectre," Robin said quietly, suddenly tense, "this is a surprise." He forced himself to relax. Losing his composure with an agent of God would just be stupid. He still couldn't shake his frown. Jordan looked tense. The Left Hand of God was _not_ supposed to look tense.

"I apologize for the abrupt entrance," the former Green Lantern spoke quickly, definitely nervous, "but, in light of the current circumstances, subtlety is a luxury." His obvious discomfort made Robin increasingly anxious. "My associates and I are aware of the difficulties facing you and the tragedies you have already endured. When I heard about Red Tornado--you have my sincerest condolences. He was a good man. Better than most."

Greta put forth a watery smile. "He was. So ... you came to help us, right?" She sounded so hopeful, but Robin didn't let himself get swept up. Something was too odd here.

Spectre turned, apparently watching Greta's mother. "Yes," he sighed, "and no."

Greta frowned sharply. "I don't understand. Hal?"

"Yes," a scowl was quickly forming on Robin's face, "please explain."

He wouldn't look at them. "If it were up to me," he growled, the power radiating from him reminding Robin exactly why he didn't want to aggravate the man, "I'd have already taken care of this myself. But it has been decreed you must succeed or fail on your own--this event is too important in the larger scheme of things."

Greta gasped. "What? _Why?_"

Robin was definitely scowling now, and if he didn't know better he would have sworn Jordan was on the verge of going into a rant. _Couldn't get more uncomfortable in here._ "I suppose this is one of those times where we have to stand or fall on our own, right? Trial by fire for humanity and all that?" He didn't bother keeping the contempt out of his voice. It was increasingly clear Hal wasn't here to loom at them.

Spectre made a sound deep in his throat that might have been a chuckle if he were human. "I see you've inherited some of Bruce's cynicism. Useful. Just try not to drown in it, Timothy. To be more precise, the threat, as you are aware, is grave. It isn't just you and your friends who are at risk. The balance of good and evil in the world is at stake." He shook his head. "This struggle is seen as a trial for those who would become this world's champions, and thus I am forbidden from interfering directly, even to reveal who your enemies are." He spat the last bit. Robin could sympathize, but the clues were coming together in the back of his mind, and pointing increasingly to a very bad place.

Greta's frown deepened. "But you said 'yes,' too. So, you'll help us indirectly, right?"

Hal started to look at her and changed his mind, setting off all sorts of alarms in Robin's head. "All of this--the maniac you're fighting _and_ his minions--it all stems from an imbalance. Though I have the power to temporarily subdue your stalkers, there is no one now who has the power to restore the balance permanently. _That_ is the problem we face." He turned, looking directly at Greta. "The chance to restore that power to one who is worthy--_that_ is why I am here."

Boom. It all clicked into place. The nervousness, not appearing until Greta was mostly isolated, dispensing with the usual retribution and reprisal act, the way he looked at her. He was sure his heart skipped a beat. _They want her back._ He felt _something_ well up in him, too raw to name, but he knew he had to stop this, _right now_.

But again, he was not fast enough, and as always, Greta was not an idiot. The sharp gasp she let out couldn't be anything but realization. She drew herself to her full height, tightening her grip on his waist as she pushed herself onto her toes.

And then she lost it.

"You want--you came here to--_no_! Not again! I'm happy! I can _touch_ and _feel_ and _breathe_ and I don't have to hide in caves and abandoned hotels hoping no one comes to take me away just for being me! I'm finally not alone," she pulled Tim to herself as if to demonstrate. "None of my friends stare at me with fear in their eyes when they think I'm not looking. And you can't just come here and wave your hands and take it all away because even though you could stop all this it's _not allowed!_ Your people let them blind Helen and kill Kathy and Reddy and I'll bet they know where Traya is, too. You told me once you just wanted me to be happy. I won't be used like this!" Tears brimmed in her eyes even as her face contorted in rage. "How could _you_ do this to me?"

It took every bit of will Robin could muster not to attack the man in front of him. However, he easily managed to crush his urge to push her behind him and take over. From the look on her face, she wouldn't have it. As much as he wanted to yell and scream and tell this guy where to shove it, that wouldn't help anything because this was the damn _Spectre_ and Greta was handling herself just fine. This time, _he_ was the backup. If he could at least give her something to hold on to so Jordan couldn't intimidate her, that would be something. _This is not happening. I can't stop him. None of us can._ And yet, part of his mind, the piece that was most logical, was busy pondering exactly what kind of threat would make Spectre do something like this. It was a short, nasty list.

Jordan looked pained, and all at once looked much more like a man. "Greta, I swear to you, no one, _especially_ not me, is going to use you against your will. I'm here to give you a choice. You have every right to tell me to go to Hell, and part of me really wishes you would, but I have to make the offer."

That knocked the wind out of Robin's sails. _What?_ Even Greta deflated, just a bit.

"What?" she asked, the fire receded from her eyes. "I don't understand."

Robin couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "Me neither," he turned on his best glare. "Explain."

"My orders were quite clear." He didn't look away from them this time. "I was supposed to come down here and, even though you're being given a choice this time, manipulate you into taking back your place as Warder of the Abyss, whatever it took. I was chosen specifically because, up until about five minutes ago, you trusted me and they knew I was the only one with a chance." He floated in front of them, pulling his hood back to reveal a blond haired, blue-eyed face that looked a lot like a Ken doll. "But I'm not going to do that. I'm going to lay it all out for you, and let you _really_ choose, because I believe you'll make the right decision."

"They'll never admit it to your face," he continued, "and if you're lucky you'll never actually have to see them anyway, but they know they screwed up. Mishandling doesn't even begin to capture the egregiousness of their error. They didn't protect you when they should have, let you be hurt, and yes, they used you. But you're the one they want. They say it's your destiny, that the girl they got to replace you--that they took much better care of--couldn't handle it and had to be removed before she committed genocide. And no one was coercing her when she went off the deep end. And I'm supposed to harp on you and guilt you into it again. Of course, they made it sound a whole lot nobler than that."

"But you're not doing that," she said flatly. If she pressed herself any harder into his side, Robin was sure they would fuse together. "Why?"

"Excellent question." Robin squeezed her waist. _I'm right here, angel._

"Because the destiny argument is the heavenly court's equivalent of telling you to do it 'because we said so.' And that's only valid when you're reasoning with a toddler. You deserve better, Greta."

"Nice to know we agree on something," Robin growled.

Jordan just looked at him for a second before turning his gaze back to Greta. "So let me tell you what I know. Being given even a shred of divine power is a huge responsibility. You get that. And you're no doubt thinking to yourself that we're all nuts, seeing as things got a bit out of hand last time. You fell into in a great wickedness, for a time. But when it came down to the wire, you, all by yourself, rejected it. Timothy may have given you a lifeline, something to hold onto so you could pull yourself away from that self-styled god's control, but in the end the decision to stand in the light was yours and yours alone. And I believe you would sooner die than give into the darkness again. That is the only reason I'm here. That experience, and the simple fact that you've remained so compassionate and caring in spite of everything you've seen and done, has convinced me you are the best option we have. I wouldn't ask this of you if I thought there was any alternative."

He ceased to float, standing before her. "But you deserve to choose, and I will abide your decision."

Silence hung thick between them. "That's it?" Greta finally asked, strangely calm. "You're not going to do anything else to convince me?"

Jordan shook his head. "I will answer any questions you may have. But I have made my case, and anything else would merely be the sort of coercion I swore to myself I would have no part of. I have used my influence to compel your friends to stay far away from here until you decide." He sighed. "Do you have questions?"

Robin wanted to scream. _We can win. _I _can win. You don't have to do this!_ But he held his tongue. Jordan wouldn't be here if that was the case. Greta's powers, when she had them, were very unique--nothing he or anyone else could duplicate. If they really need a warder to win, the problem was worse than he thought. But did that really give _them_ the right to come down here and--

He shut his eyes, grateful again for the mask. _Not my decision. But I can convince her she won't be alone if it comes to that, not this time._ He felt a flush of resolve. _I'm not going anywhere._

Greta started moving, and from the way she was tugging, he was obviously supposed to follow. They stepped forward, stopping directly in front of the monitor where her mother slumbered. He stared at her, the swirl of emotion in her eyes too intense to identify. "No one's rushing you, Greta," he heard himself say. "If they're going to force you to make this sort of decision, take your time. Spectre can wait. Just remember ... I'm with you no matter what." The one thing he managed to say, and it sounded ubiquitous and stupid. Or not; she seemed to come back to herself as she turned to face the man Robin increasingly thought of as an intruder.

"Tell me the truth," she said. "If I say no, can we win?" Spectre's eyes widened. "If I find out you're lying ... it won't matter that I'm not evil."

"Greta," Robin blurted, alarmed, "don't--"

"It's okay," she whispered. "I--I know what I'm doing. Just ... don't go away."

And all at once, Robin realized he really didn't have any say in this. God, this hurt. He knew what she was asking and knew it meant she'd probably already almost made her decision. Unless Jordan surprised them both and said yes. "I won't," he breathed, and in that instant he knew a thousand parademons couldn't drag him away. "I promise." Two words almost taboo in their relationship. For emergencies only, because you couldn't ever take them back.

She looked the Spectre in the eye. "Well?"

"The threat can be subdued without your help, perhaps for decades, or perhaps only for weeks or days. None but a warder will have the power to banish it permanently. And that is the absolute truth. You have my word, for what little it's probably worth to you now."

"I see," she whispered, turning from them both. "I want you to leave now, Hal. I'll call you back in a little while when I've decided, but for now, I want you to go." It was, in spite of the tremors in her voice, unquestionably an order.

Jordan looked stricken, and Robin savagely thought it suited him. "As you wish. Just call my name." And he winked out of existence.

"Tim?" she turned, swaying on her feet, anger suddenly gone. Before he knew what was happening he was wrapping her in his arms as they fell to the ground in a barely controlled collapse.

"I'm here," he spoke into her hair once more, rocking her slightly. "Not going anywhere."

"Did you know," she continued, voice so low he had to strain to hear it, "I really meant it when I said I was happy after Darkseid took my powers away. Even if I get frustrated at being unable to fight sometimes, I really do, right now, have everything I ever wanted." She looked at her mother, swiping tears away. "Well, almost everything. But I can't be picky. At least she's alive." She was almost babbling now, probably thinking of Kathy, and didn't seem to notice the way he winced then. "But you know what makes me happiest?"

His mouth had taken leave of his mind--which was fortunate, as his thoughts were busy being as disordered and conflicted as physically possible. Maybe a bit more than that. He always was an overachiever. "What, angel?"

Her voice was muffled, her breath hot, quick bursts against his neck. "You. And Mommy. Cassie, Bart, Traya, Cissie, Kon, Alfred and even Mr Wayne. All my precious people. There's no point ... if you don't have anyone to love, or love you back." Her voice hitched. "And no matter how happy I am like this ... I can't let _anyone_ keep hurting you if there's a chance I could help stop it. If it can't be stopped _without_ me." She looked at him with red eyes. "Do you understand?"

His vision was blurry and his cheeks were wet and _damn_, he hated this. He wasn't strong enough, and yet again, someone else was going to pay. _I failed you. I'm so sorry._ "I understand," he croaked.

Her touch was suddenly desperate. "I'm going to miss ... I'm going to miss us."

_What!_ He jerked his head up to look at her, panic surging through him. _This isn't supposed to happen!_ "I ... I don't understand. We're b-breaking up?"

"Well," she wouldn't look at him, "we have to, don't we? I love you, so much, but I can't force you to stay, not after...we won't be able to..."

The rational part of his brain forced itself back online then, deciphering her meaning at lightning speed. "_No_." Completely desperate, now. _Not going to happen._ "I'm not going to stop loving you just because you'll be harder to touch. If I did--if I did, I'd be the kind of person that could never deserve to have someone like you in my life in the first place. Things will be ... more complicated, yes, but I swear to you, this changes nothing about how I feel. It just convinces me, again, that you're the bravest person I've ever met."

She still didn't look convinced, even though it was clear she desperately wanted to be. Then he got an idea. It was a low blow, but he had to shake her out of this. "Let me ask you something. You know how dangerous what I do is. You've seen me hurt. If something happened--if I were paralyzed from the neck down or mentally debilitated, would you stop loving me? Would you want to leave or just stay because you thought you were obligated?"

That seemed to work. She gaped at him a moment before almost shouting, "No! Never! No matter what shape you're in, you'll still be you and there's no one else I'd rather be with. It would be my worst nightmare come true, but I'd never leave you over something like that." Realization dawned in her eyes.

"You'll still be you, angel, in every way that makes you wonderful and amazing and unique. I won't lie. Things might get harder, and certain things will be different. But I think we're strong enough, I swear." _And if it turns out I'm wrong, and I'm not, you'll find someone who is._ But that wouldn't ever happen. He couldn't conceive of it.

"I," she took a deep breath, and some of the anxiety seemed to fall away, "I think so, too. But it's still terrifying, imagining what could happen."

"I know. But I know we can handle it together." And then it occurred to him maybe he was making this too simple. "But that's not entirely what this is about, is it?"

"Do you know," she asked slowly, "why I never really tried to get with you when we were in Young Justice? I mean, I got frustrated and took it out on Spoiler once but--it was complicated."

"Tell me," he said gently, resting his chin on her head, "please?"

"Two things," she spoke quickly. "You had a flesh-and-blood girlfriend, and I didn't know how I could compete. You barely seemed to notice I was interested in you."

Someone had snuck up behind him and shoved a power-whisk in his heart, and they'd put it on the highest setting. _Oh God, what did I _do "Greta, I," he kissed the top of her head. "I did you wrong in Young Justice. I knew you liked me, but--I couldn't like you back. I wouldn't allow it, even though the longer we spent time together the harder it was to ignore ... things. I already had a girlfriend, and I couldn't string you along like that, even if it was just flirting. I thought we could just be friends and I could ignore it and eventually you'd find someone better--someone who wasn't so messed up in the head--and I was too busy trying not to abuse your feelings I didn't notice I was hurting you until it was too late. It never had anything to do with what you were made of. I'm so, so sorry. I know how inadequate that sounds, but it's the truth."

She sniffled a bit. "I always kind of figured it was something like that. You've never hurt me on purpose. But it was my fault, too. I was afraid to push you. I didn't want you to have to stop me if we were together and I ... did something bad. You'd try no matter what, and I couldn't hurt you even more like that."

For a moment, he couldn't think of what to say. Then, "that's really why you never came to me and ..."

"Yes," she sobbed, and he tightened his grip as much as he thought he could without hurting her.

"Well, it's not a problem now," he said quietly.

"But--" she started, but he slid a thumb over her lip.

"We're together _now_. And I know, and no one will ever convince me otherwise, that you're a good person, as far from being evil as they come. And if for some reason that ever changed, I would be the first one there, because I would know it wasn't really you doing it, that you were in trouble. And I would do whatever it took to stop you and bring you back because I love you too much to let anyone who might just decide saving you is too much work take you away."

She looked at him, and he could see the last bits of doubt leaving her eyes. But there was still something left there. He knew what it had to be. _This is going to hurt._

"And what--what if I really did turn evil? What if you couldn't bring me back?" She stared so intensely it was difficult not to flinch.

"Then," his voice quivered, but he was pleased to hear resolve, "I would stop you. And it would be one of the hardest things I could ever have to do. But I would make sure it was me, because if it comes to that I'll still love you just as much as I do right now, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you're not hurt any more than you have to be--but I won't let you hurt anyone else, because I know you would never want that. No matter what it takes. I swear it."

He wanted to be sick. Part of him knew it had to come to this, that he would have to make the oath, because she had almost lost it once, and he couldn't deny--and she would never forget--that it could happen again. No, he loved her so much that he had just promised to kill her if he couldn't bring her back and it was the only option. And from the look in her eyes, that's _exactly_ what she'd wanted. As soon as possible, he would have to devise a Secret Protocol. _Write it out on paper. Memorize it. Burn it._ It occurred to him that Bruce was _not_ going to like this, and for once, he didn't care what the Batman thought. At all. "You realize," he struggled to get out the words, "very few people are brave enough--honest enough--to ask me what you just did."

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't do this if I hadn't." They stood together. "So, this is it."

"Yeah," he murmured, as they clung to each other like they'd never hug again. And he supposed they wouldn't. Not like this. "Promise me something."

She looked surprised. "Anything."

He gestured at the mirror-like crystal. "Look. Do you see that beautiful, courageous girl staring back at us? Her name is Greta Hayes. And no matter what happens or what she's about to take on, she's still going to be a human, never a thing or a specimen or someone's weapon, and her name will _still_ be Greta Hayes. No matter what anyone says or thinks or tries to do, she won't let herself think otherwise. And she'll remember that the guy standing next to her loves her, now more than ever, and will always be here to back her up."

They were both crying now. "I promise I won't forget. How could I, when I've got you to remind me?" She stood up, leaning on his shoulder, their lips meeting a split-second later. For a moment, everything else melted away.

Until he felt her break away and heard her voice. "Hal. I'm ready now. The answer's yes."

He shook himself as Jordan reappeared before them. _Okay, Robin. This is it._ He blinked. _Whoa._

"If you're absolutely sure, Greta," he'd never imagined the Left Hand of God could look so ... _guilty_, "then we will begin." Still, he couldn't feel sorry for the man, and if Greta noticed, she wasn't acting sympathetic.

"Let's get this over with," she hissed. "What do I do?"

"Just stand there, Greta. I must warn you--this will likely be somewhat painful."

"Figures," Robin growled. It wasn't like backing out was an option at this point.

She scowled. "I can handle it. Do it."

With one last, baleful look, he waved his hand. "It is done." For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then she doubled over, collapsing against him and screaming like she was on fire. He stared in mute horror even as his arms came up to support her. Still, it didn't stop, tears streaming down her face, body spasming wildly. She felt soft and spongy under his hands. _Oh God. She's dissolving in my arms._ He reached to his neck and unclasped his cape, sweeping it around her and wrapping her in it as he lifted her off the ground. At least he'd be able to keep her in his arms when it was over. "It's alright, Greta. I'm here. I'm right here. It's almost over." He raised his head to glare at the Spectre, but found Jordan mirroring his horror.

"They didn't say," the Agent of God's Wrath whispered, "they didn't say it would be anything like this. Oh my God, what have I done?"

"Well, you've already done it!" Robin roared, feeling his composure shredding. The writhing girl in his arms only felt like she weighed twenty pounds, and _still_ kept screaming. "_How much longer, damn it!_" Something wet splashed on her face, again and again and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop crying. "Hang on, beautiful. You're almost there."

"No more than a minute," Jordan shouted back shrilly.

_Oh, _that's _helpful._ Greta stopped moving finally, but before he could register what was happening she threw her head back, mouth and eyes opening to reveal an unearthly golden light as she gave one final scream. A blinding flash, and the weight in his arms vanished, the air suddenly cold. He forced his eyes open, met with the sight of his girlfriend, incorporeal and unconscious, curled in a depression in his cape. Her uniform, a light tan body suit and a brown long coat that clasped over her chest but left her abdomen and lower body completely exposed, was exactly as before. Several tendrils of smoke wound their way into the air.

"It's over," Jordan said softly.

_No. This is just the beginning._ "Yeah," Robin whispered, never taking his eyes off her. "Greta? Can you hear me? Wake up, sweetheart." _Please wake up._ And finally, she stirred, eyes opening to reveal glowing blue irises.

"Tim?" The voice was the same, but sounded faint and wispy, like a whisper carried on the wind. She glanced at the makeshift blanket she was wrapped in. "That really hurt. I could hear you talking, but I couldn't..."

"How do you feel?" he asked as she floated up, examining herself in a crystal.

"Just like I used to. It's exactly the same." One of her hands solidified, finding one of his and squeezing. If this was going to be how they touched now, he would treasure every moment.

"Not _exactly_ the same," Jordan, who had regained his composure somewhat, spoke softly. "There's something I haven't told you, I'm afraid."

Greta whirled to face him, anger burning in her eyes. But, Robin noted with pride, they stayed blue. He knew his would probably be glowing red if he were her.

"What are you talking about?" She glared at him.

"It's nothing bad, I promise," Jordan spoke quickly, trying to sound soothing. Robin was seriously contemplating ways to injure him. "But I couldn't mention it before. Just, do one thing for me. Try to solidify completely."

Greta blinked. "But you know I can't." She sounded so sad.

_Doesn't want it rubbed in her face. But he wouldn't, anyway._ "Maybe you should humor him, angel. Gets him out of here sooner." _He wouldn't have--of course he would've. But that means..._

She grimaced. "Yeah. Okay." She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Before Robin could blink, there was another flash, and she stood completely solid, back in her jeans and Looney Toon Mafia t-shirt. For several seconds she just stared at herself, poking her stomach and arms. Robin couldn't find any words. He was thrilled beyond description--and completely and totally pissed.

"Tim," Greta breathed, "_look!_" A huge grin spread across her face. "I can _switch it off!_" She rushed into his arms, and as he caught her his anger at Jordan receded. He lifted her up and spun her around, both of them laughing like maniacs, new, entirely different tears pouring down their faces. But then her face clouded over, and she looked towards Jordan as he put her down. "Why didn't you say anything before? And what's going on? This isn't the same. Not that I'm complaining." She still poked at herself, disbelief plastered on her face.

Jordan smiled slightly. "They wanted to give you your powers back exactly as before. I knew what that would mean for you, and I couldn't let them destroy your life again. Let's say I had some leverage. But there are a few things you should know."

"Yeah?" Robin frowned. _There's always gotta be a catch._

"First, as you've no doubt noticed, you can activate and deactivate your powers with a thought. Whatever clothing you're wearing will disappear and reappear accordingly. A small portion of the pocket dimension you once again control has been set aside for storage, should you need any of your belongings while transformed." He grew serious. "But that is more a convenience than anything else. The nature of your abilities has changed. While your powers are the same, you remain a mortal this time. You will age relatively normally, though slower while you are in your warder state." Greta beamed at this. "But, and you must listen carefully, your stamina is finite. You can become fatigued, and if you exhaust yourself or are knocked unconscious, you will revert to your solid form. You must be aware of these limitations. As before, you must at all costs avoid exposure to potassium chloride, and you retain your prior vulnerabilities, most notably magic and electricity. Do you understand?"

She nodded quickly, but her joy remained palpable. "Yes, but why didn't you say it would be this way?" Accusation tinted her tone as she finished.

"It was necessary, Greta. If you had known, beforehand, that you would keep your physical form, would you have really thought about it before agreeing? My superiors were not exactly thrilled to allow you to retain your humanity. They believed it would make you weak. I had to promise I would test your resolve. I understand if you're angry, and I _am_ sorry for leading you on."

All traces of her good mood were gone from her face. "The last ten minutes were some of the most awful of my life, Hal. You can't imagine what you put me through. What you put Tim through. But," she tried to smile at him, "if that's what it took for me to be able to keep doing this," she wrapped her arms around Robin's waist, "then, I guess I owe you a thank you."

"I do too," Robin growled, "I guess." Wanting to jump for joy and pummel something at the same time was indeed a bizarre feeling.

"Neither of you owe me anything. I'm merely doing what I can to help." He turned to Greta. "I meant everything I said. I have complete faith in you. Keep in mind, your powers are neither inherently good nor inherently evil. The same goes for most of the training Darkseid gave you--he merely wanted you to know your potential, though I understand if you are uncomfortable using the techniques you discovered while under his thrall. It is how you _use_ your abilities that matters most. You'll face great challenges from here, even after you rout the current threat. Just remember," he nodded at Robin, "you never have to face them alone."

She smiled slightly as she leaned into her boyfriend. "I know."

"Good luck." And with that, he was gone.

"Wow," Greta whispered. "I can't believe it."

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I know. I want to be furious with him. And build him a statue."

She smiled lightly. "Tell me about it. Will you help me train when this is over? He said my powers were different now. I need to learn what I can and can't do."

His smile widened. She was thinking about the important things. "Of course. There's equipment in the Cave we could use, and some more stuff at the Watchtower if we need it."

She started chewing her lip. "And I ... I want to go with you when you look for Kathy and Traya. I have to get back into it and I can help if Traya's--if she's really hurt."

There was a part of him that wanted to tell her no, that it was too soon. But if he started doing that, he might not be able to stop, and he refused to let himself become an overprotective jackass. She'd known what she was doing in Young Justice, and as she told him before, that wasn't something you forgot. _And Jordan made it clear we would need her in the bigger fight. Good to get her feet wet ahead of time. And she's right. If Traya's hurt, she'll be able to zero in on her faster than I can, and stabilize her if she needs it._ "Deal. How do you want to handle telling the others?"

She looked away. "I'll do it. I just hope--it wasn't going to affect my decision, but I hope they're as understanding about it as you were."

"They're your friends, angel. They're not going to stop caring about you because you were brave enough to do this just so you could protect them." _At least, not most of them. I hope Cissie doesn't weird out on us._ That was one problem he didn't need.

"_Master Robin,_" a monotone voice called as a small robot turned the corner. "_The mortuary search you initiated has completed. Results are ready at your convenience._"

Greta straightened up, a smile playing across her face. "_Yes!_" She looked at Robin. "Let's do it, Tim."

Robin turned to the robot. "You heard her. Let's hear it." _We're coming, Traya. Both of us._


	13. Take Good Care of My Baby

A/N: See previous chapters for full notes. All feedback is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

"Oh! Look!" Pansy pointed at the television as she stretched across her white leather sofa, planting her feet squarely in Harm's lap. The feed was live from what remained of Metropolis's JLA hub. "Midgets in bags! Or one guy ... in bags. Still, midget cops are always fun."

Harm just stared at her feet. _I really don't want to know what that means._ "You really are nuts, you know that?" he smirked.

She shrugged, yellow eyes twinkling mischievously. "I prefer _eclectic_, Harmio I don't know why you're complaining now--you seemed to enjoy my sense of fun last night." She wiggled her toes and grinned. "Or would you just like me better as a short blonde?" She blinked, giggling to herself. "Midgets in bags, indeed."

He blushed, and forced himself not to think about last night's _thoroughly enjoyable_ interlude. That would be _entirely_ too distracting. "You have an odd way of behaving while orchestrating an, as these idiots call it, mass murder." _Heh. Killing less than two-dozen people counts as a mass murder now. Somewhere, those quivering cowards lost their sense of scale._ He chuckled. He was more than willing to educate them.

She poked his bare chest with a claw. He'd changed into sweats--and not much else--while a spell repaired his work clothes, or, as Pansy called them, "Your Rambo shirt and ass-amplifying pants." It kind of tickled. "You're the one who wanted to check the news coverage. Though I must admit, I _do_ wonder why we're just sitting here when we could be pillaging the countryside. Not going soft, are you?" She blinked, regarding his sweat pants speculatively as she repositioned her feet in his lap. "Of course not."

His blush deepened. "So, are you just going to sit there and act dirty until I let you go maim something?" _Not that I'm not enjoying the ... effort._

She grinned, fangs glistening, pus-colored eyes dancing with mirth. "Glad to see you're finally letting your oh-so-long-and-luxuriantly-evil hair down, but no. I get the whole psychological warfare thing--letting them simmer in their own juices for a while has a certain appeal, but I will admit I am curious about a couple ... minor details."

He sighed theatrically. _Not this again._ "Don't tell me you're still upset that I didn't let you ... what was it? Oh yes, 'turn the little bitch's spine into a belt.' Really, Pansy, what's the deal there? The file you showed me on her wasn't that impressive. Basic combat training from Birdboy, otherwise apprentice to the Oracle."

She regarded him cryptically, something he couldn't decipher lurking behind the inhuman eyes. "Let's just say the file's not complete, Harmuffin. I have ... private reasons. And that's all I intend to say," she finished flatly. "But I get you leaving her alive. A nice side project for Timmy and his little lapdog."

_Whoa_, Harm thought, with some surprise. _Thin ice._ There were some jokes ready on the tip of his tongue, but for once he thought maybe ribbing her wasn't the best of ideas. "Fair enough," he said, trying his best disarming smile. He'd learnt to be pretty good with them; a necessity for winning over the idiot suburbanites that were kind enough to adopt him and keeping them in the dark even when sister-dearest started getting nosy. _Not as if that was actually a problem._ "What's the other thing?"

Pansy grinned, a slim hand slinking into the pocket of his sweats. His eyes widened for a moment, but she pulled it back clutching a baseball-sized purple crystal. It glowed faintly, and he knew from experience, was warm to the touch. She winked at him. "You've got the essence of an _elemental spirit_ in here, babe. Not even Uncle Eddy can destroy something like that. And if this crystal ever breaks, Tornado _will_ re-emerge, though between the way you smashed his head and the magic involved, his memories should be pretty well Swiss-cheesed. Still, souls have a way of reasserting themselves if left unchecked. As long as you don't do something about this, he's not really dead. I'd _hate_ to give the little smartass the opportunity a Disney-esque reunion moment."

Harm blinked. Ignoring, for the moment, the irrational Traya Sutton hatred he wasn't supposed to inquire about, it was a valid issue. _It's so nice having associates of intellect._ He caught a glance of her pink Powerpuff Girls shirt out of the corner of his eye. _Among other ... appreciable assets._ "You raise an interesting point, Pansy. And I _have_ anticipated it." She looked expectant. "I considered myself a bit of an expert on Reddy, even before you came along--it was necessary to know all I could about him if I was going to use him to take out the Pope. Between that research, and your records, you know, it strikes me, it's not exactly clear how Tornado's essence came into T. O. Morrow's possession. His journals note the date and time he found something he called 'the vessel of the power of wind.' Care to take a guess how he describes it?" He tossed the sphere up in the air, a wicked grin splitting his face.

Her eyes widened a fraction. "Spherical and purple and glowing?" He nodded, jumping slightly as she broke into what had to be delighted laughter. It sounded sort of like the noise flying monkeys made in the _Wizard of Oz_ movie he liked when he was little. "Willie, darling, I had no idea you were so temporally minded. I'm _very_ impressed. Of course, I should have figured it out myself, but, I'll admit, I knew you were an avid student of all things Red Tornado. I didn't give him the proper treatment, I'm afraid." She winked at him. "Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

"Well," he pretended to deliberate, cocking an eyebrow, "I suppose we have a responsibility to ..."

"Protect the integrity of the timeline?" She made a sour face. "Ugh. I can't believe I just said that, even if I was being sarcastic." The grin came back. "Time loop, too. They ever figure out what we've done and try to reverse it, and poof! Red Tornado ceases to exist. _Delicious._ I knew I made a good choice when I picked you for this little adventure. Well, shall we? I've got just enough temporal energy stored up for a quick trip for two."

He found himself grinning at her enthusiasm, and part of him was quite interested in observing the past, but he shook his head. "Unfortunately, I've got somewhere else to be. I may be willing to let Timmy stew, but that doesn't mean I haven't got some surprises planned. I wouldn't want to give him a chance to get _all_ his wits about him. That could be ... _troublesome_. He got some samples of my blood, so it won't be long before he figures out exactly who's yanking his chain. Still, he can't trace us, so there's not much he'll be able to do. I don't intend to engage him directly until I'm ready to kill him. It's not like he could beat me, but I want to be able to savor the moment."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Good idea. So while you're arranging this I go drop off the eggplant of power. So, any particular proxy in mind?"

He smirked. "Ever heard of a guy named Black Mask?"

Another nod. "Takes the whole death's head theme a bit literally, I'm afraid."

"He wants control of the Gotham underworld, babe. But he's smart enough not to start a gang war himself. I think I'll convince one of Gotham's psycho club to offer his services to Skeletor. I'll even go so far as to break him out of Arkham--for a small fee, of course. Once our man kills the major bosses and opens the door for Sionis' ascension, he'll come into a large chunk of money. For the time being, I would find even a fraction of that useful."

Pansy chuckled. "Ah. So, you destabilize Gotham, free a murderer and end up with a large pile of loot. And if it works, Robin won't even know you started it. I'd tell you I'm impressed again, but I don't want to stroke your ego _too_ much."

_A little goes a long way, Pandellion._ Harm's grin widened. "That's the plan. Everybody wins. Except Timothy. But that's the whole idea."

"So, who's the assassin that's caught your eye?"

Harm popped his knuckles. "Why, the perfect straw man, of course."

* * *

_And meanwhile, in the giant alien igloo..._ Dana shook her head. Tim had given everyone assignments and they'd all split. Even Martha and Bonnie and the rest had found somewhere to be. As usual, she and Jack were left wandering aimlessly through the bit of the Fortress near the war room (and she certainly had no trouble thinking of this as a war now). They finally settled in a small alcove overlooking some ice plains. Jack stared dourly out the window, but the last several minutes seemed to have dampened his rage. _Good thing, too_. If he'd continued to be a jerk even after Tim's announcement, she would've been forced to clock him. _Still..._ "So, sweetheart, want to tell me why you're trying to melt the ice with your mind?"

He turned toward her after a beat, and she started. The worry and frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, but she found herself fixated on just how much he resembled Tim in that moment. He quirked his lips with obvious effort. "You're taking this well."

She shook her head. "Not really. I just--I doubt sitting down and throwing a tantrum would be exactly helpful right now. Doesn't mean I don't want to."

Mirthless laughter. "Tell me about it. Can you believe ... what the hell did we just see in there?" He lowered his voice. "He's not a little boy anymore, is he? But he's not a man. What is he, Dana?"

She wrapped an arm around his waist, then thought better of it, turning and leaning her back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and she allowed herself the smallest of grins as he breathed in the scent of her hair. _At least we're making progress._ "I don't know, baby. I wish I did, but I don't. I want to say he's a superhero, but I'm not even sure what that means anymore. Superheroes aren't supposed to die, are they? You're going to have to find out." A dark thought struck her. "Why do you want to know?"

He started, looking down at her. "I don't understand."

"I think you do," she sighed, "but I can see where you don't want to think about it. Do you want to know so you can understand him, or do you want to know so you can get him out of that suit? Because you've got to realize by now, as much as we both wish he wasn't, he's a vigilante, and he passed the point of no return long before either of us knew what was going on. He chose it over you--and me--once before, and he'll probably do it again."

She wasn't surprised when his muscles turned to stone behind her. "I want him out of that suit. Make no mistake. But things are ... more complicated ... than I thought. I mean, did you see," the barest hint of pride filled his voice, "he's _brilliant_, Dana. Every single one of them trusts him to get them out of this. He could do _anything_. He could be rich and powerful and never want for anything. But he chooses to do this, night after night, year after year, and I just don't get it. I know it's not thrill seeking. I see that now. There's no thrill in this."

Dana shuddered, thinking of the horrified looks that crossed all their faces as Timothy laid out the terrible news. _No thrill._ But Jack was right. Tim was brilliant--no, that wasn't even the word for it. It was something beyond that. And he chose to do this. "Maybe you did a better job raising him then you think, Jack. Maybe he's doing it just because you taught him good people do what they can to help others. And this--this is what he thinks he can do best." Okay, so ascribing motives to Tim when they'd never really talked about this was probably idiotic, but it was important to keep Jack talking.

He shook his head. "No, he doesn't get this from me. My idea of being a good person was dropping a boatload of money on a charity every three months. I've never been the self-sacrificing type, Dana. Whatever it is that drives him, he didn't get it from me. No."

She frowned. Jack wasn't one to admit deficiencies, even in their most private moments. It was a fault she had to accept in the very beginning. When she was pushing his physical limits in rehab, it was an asset, but lately... "I wouldn't be so sure, Jack. But the only way you'll get any answers is to talk to your son."

He sighed into her hair. "I know, but--it's easy enough to be civil when we're in a group, especially when that little short girl looks like she'll eat me if I look at him wrong, but when we're alone I just start feeling so--I'll lose it with him again. My emotions take control and I just get so angry..."

"I know," she whispered, turning to face him. "He doesn't get too cheery himself. You both did a number on each other. But I believe that the two of you want this bad enough you'll be able to work around that. But I think you've gotta take the first step, baby. If I've learned anything from the last few months of meeting with him, it's that he's hurt and confused and doesn't really know how to approach you anymore. Give him a hand."

He gazed into her eyes for a moment, then smiled. "You have a lot of faith in me."

"Someone has to," she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And you've never let me down yet, even if I have to wait a while for you to come out of your macho fugue sometimes." She stood on her toes, drawing his face close.

He blushed. "Dana, I'm not sure we should--I mean, this is Superman's--"

She put a finger on his lips, grinning from ear to ear. "Like he's never brought someone here to make out. Someone is trying to exterminate me and I want a kiss."

He matched her small smile with one of his own. "As you wish."

Their lips met, and for a single, wonderful moment it didn't matter that Jack and Tim were in the running for Most Estranged Father and Son in History and the world was trying to fall apart around them.

She heard a strange noise, and they broke apart just as Tim and Greta emerged through a hole in the wall that hadn't been there just two seconds ago, hand in hand. The perpetual grim look he wore as Robin faded a bit from his face, but he looked tense, his mouth pulled into a painfully thin line. The girl at his side was just as distracted, her gaze a million miles away, but there was something else. Her eyes burned with resolve and ... _something_ ... that hadn't been there before.

Dana fought back the sigh trying to escape her lips. Yet again, she'd let down her guard for one minute and missed something vitally important. One side of Tim's mouth quirked up. "Sorry ... if we interrupted. This is kind of the only way to get where we need to go."

* * *

His stepmother was looking at them both strangely, but it was his father who caught his eye. Jack Drake looked almost _embarrassed_ at having been caught in a perfectly reasonable (and comforting and reassuring, even if Robin wasn't going to admit it anytime soon) embrace with his wife. Greta squeezed his hand, and he figured she agreed. "We have good news." They started walking forward, his parents falling in step beside them.

"We think we know where Kathy is," Greta supplied quietly.

"That's," his father said softly, "good news. What ... what do you do now?"

Robin sighed, and made sure he wasn't looking at them when he spoke again. "I've got to see the ... the body. There should be clues that'll help us find Traya. If this goes like I think," _pray and hope_, "it will, we'll be bringing her back here," he said flatly.

"What are you going to tell her?" Dana asked, after a long pause.

Robin looked at Greta. "We'll tell her she's safe. Then we bring her here. After that..."

"We'll see," Greta frowned as they turned and entered the deserted control room. "Guess this is it, huh?"

"Yeah," Robin smiled thinly as he moved to a console. "You ready?" _Gee, Robin, you're just great with the loaded questions today._ After Hal had cleared out and they calmed down enough, they had a short conversation about how to handle things. Neither could or wanted to put off going to the morgue now that they knew where it was, so gently and slowly delivering the news was out of the question. Just like their spontaneous unmasking earlier, they decided the calm, sudden approach was best. They could deal with the lasting repercussions later. And as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, there would be repercussions. _It's just a question of who, and what kind of objections they raise. And Maad._ He supposed it was a credit to her resolve that she hadn't mentioned her newly reignited fear of all things DEO and APES until after her metagene was reactivated, but the situation wasn't ideal. No matter where Ishido's loyalties fell, his superiors would find out eventually. _We'll lay siege to that impenetrable fortress when we get to it._ He'd promised her they would be ready, and planned to make good on his word. With any luck, he wouldn't have to go against the League this time. Batman rarely allowed them to make the same mistake twice.

"Wait a second, honey," Dana said, just as he was reaching for the all-call switch. "Who's going with you this time? You gave almost everyone else something to do."

"I am," Greta said, not meeting her gaze. "I've, uh, I'm not retired anymore."

"I'll explain everything later, to everybody," Robin cut in, "but we've kept Traya waiting long enough already." He pressed the button. "Attention all points. We've got a hit on Kathy's location. Also, we've just been paid a visit by the Spectre. Given the nature of the current crisis, and with her consent, Greta has been reactivated as a warder."

Greta pressed a button on the small hand-held comm. he gave her. "Except, I can solidify this time!" she smiled, her elation, muted as it was by the prospect of what they were about to do, still fresh.

"I don't understand," Dana said, but Robin was distracted as a chorus of variations on "_What the hell did you say?_" flooded his ear. Kid Flash appeared in front of them, gaping, just as someone's voice floated across the comm. line swearing in Japanese. Ishido.

The speedster grinned as he caught Greta in a hug, lifting her off the ground. "Iknowyouprobablydidn'twanttobutI'mgladyoudidandyou'restillsolidandthisissocool! They'reintroublenow! Welcome back!" He blinked. "Do you still want us to call you Secret when you're out? I mean, we kinda made it up for you and you might not like being named after--"

Greta smiled, even as her cheeks flushed slightly. "That's fine, Bart. I happen to like the name. My friends gave it to me. Could ... could you put me down now, please?" He blinked, and then he did. "Thanks, Bart."

Babs' unfiltered voice filled his ear. "_Are you sure about this, Tim?"_ Greta's handheld comm. remained silent, so he assumed he was the only one that heard it.

He narrowed his eyes, even though she couldn't see it. "I realize everyone has questions and we will answer them, but this is not the time." He glanced apologetically at his parents. Boy, were they about to get a shock. "Kon, Cassie, I need you to check on Byron's apartment."

"_I'll take that curt, Bruce-like dismissal as a yes."_ A pause. "_I trust you, Tim. Both of you. Oracle out."_

"_Wow,"_ the clone breathed, "_I mean, we're on it, Rob. Be careful out there, Greta. Don't let Tim do anything stupid."_

Cassie's voice was tinged with grim humor. "_We're on top of it, Tim. It's good to have you back, Greta. I know how much you wanted to be normal, so ... thanks."_

"Anything for you guys," Greta whispered into the communicator. "We've gotta go now." She terminated the connection just as Robin tapped his own communicator. "Here we go." A flash of light, and she was incorporeal again.

"_Holy God,_" his father whispered.

Robin chuckled. _You have no idea._

Dana just stared, but her gaze softened when Greta started to look nervous. "Um, uh ... be careful, sweetie. Both of you."

"Count on it," Greta smiled. "We'll be back with Traya." And they turned and left as she put a solidified hand in his.

* * *

Dimly shimmering vapor surrounded Greta's face as she scowled down at the morgue from the hospital clock tower across the street. "Who would name their city Death Valley, anyway? I mean, why?"

Robin didn't look away from his binoculars. He could tell exactly where she was without looking--the air just to the left of him was several degrees cooler than it should have been. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. _No booby traps...that we can see._ "In the 19th century a group of unfortunate people got lost in the desert. Most of them got out but...it earned its name. As for why they'd want to name this city in memory of that...I have no idea."

"Whoever's doing this probably thought stashing Kathy's body here would be funny." the scowl softened into a sadder look. "Is it clear?"

"Looks that way. Just one car. Must be the coroner or ME on duty; they have to keep someone here to accept ... any bodies that might come in." _Great way to stick your foot in it, Robin._ He grunted. "We should be able to sneak past them, no problem. Floor plans for this place say they keep unidentified people on the second floor."

She swatted at a tear--a small brown puff of smoke that fell from her glowing eyes and evaporated in the mist at her feet--and nodded. "Now?"

"Yeah," he nodded, pulling a grapnel from his belt and taking aim at a distant tree, "I--wait a second." He turned to look at her. Sure, she was incorporeal, but otherwise she didn't look much different. _Stupid, Robin. You must be slipping._

She blinked at him. "What is it? You're kind of staring."

"You look like you." She tilted her head. "I mean, you can change back and forth now. Sure, some people already know who you are, but you need some kind of disguise. You should try to sound different too, if you can."

"Oh. _Oh._" The tan smoke that made up her face darkened. A blush. "I completely forgot." She thought for a moment. "Let me try something." She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Robin's eyes widened beneath his mask as she began to change, the vapors that made up her body shifting and reforming instantly. She grew at least a foot taller, mostly thanks to very long and very noticeable legs as her now slightly curled, dirty-blonde hair dropped over her lower back, her torso slightly thinner than before. Shadow fell from nowhere over the space between her nose and hairline, obscuring her features. What was left looked more like a young woman than a teen. Her eyes were nothing but glowing sapphires hanging in the void. "How's this?" Her voice was an octave deeper and infused with a slight gravel that he was sure she was copying in at least some part from Bruce. He had some ideas where the legs and hair were coming from, but didn't particularly care to think about why Greta thought she needed to borrow features from Wonder Woman and Starfire.

He shook himself. The voice combined with the half-featureless face could've been, and probably was meant to be, very unsettling. He wasn't bothered in the least. _Just Greta, in a mask._ "I wouldn't recognize you if I didn't know better. It's not going to be a problem for you to stay like that?"

"Not at all," she grinned, and it was Greta's smile, "I used to spend a lot of time shape shifting for fun, especially after I'd met new people. It's just like standing up straighter or stretching. Oh, and I meant to tell you. Don't worry about calling me Secret when we're out like this. It won't bother me. I know you know my name. I'll just think of it as part of my disguise."

"That's all it has to be, anymore," Robin said, firing his line, "let's get this over with."

Her mouth dropped into a thin line, sadness filling her disguised voice. "I guess we have to, don't we?" She started floating forward, and he pushed off.

* * *

_Damn, it's cold in here._ Then again, Robin had yet to walk though a morgue that wasn't freezing. He turned as Greta floated in behind him and shut the window. "Can you feel anything?" _At least there aren't any security cameras._

She stared off in the distance. "There's only one soul in the building. Downstairs, not anywhere near the Abyss. I can't sense anything else."

He nodded, moving forward. "Should be this way." She floated at his side, her face tense. Somehow, he knew it wasn't just because of their grim task. "You alright, angel?"

She jumped slightly, her mouth pulling into a frown. "I--it's nothing." She stopped for a moment, shaking her head. "No, that's not right. It's just. I woke up in a place like this, after Billy..."

_Oh, geeze_. "Hey, it's alright." He found her hand; it solidified almost as soon as he brushed her fingers. "That was before. You're safe here." _Well, as safe as you can be given the circumstances._

She smiled tightly at him. "I know. I'm not scared of this place. It just ... it makes me remember. Besides," she squeezed his hand. "I know I'm safe. I'm with you." Robin suddenly felt much warmer, returning her smile with one of his own.

"You make me feel safe too, angel." They turned a corner, and he took a deep breath. "Freezer room three. We're here." He turned the knob.

* * *

"I'd forgotten," Secret said distantly, "what these places were like. It seems so wrong to just ... put people in drawers." Robin didn't really know what to say. "But, I guess there's not much else you can do, is there?" He realized she wasn't actually expecting an answer, so just kept on looking through the hardcopy files on the desk.

He found what he was looking for, and a cold weight pressed over his chest as he picked up the file and flipped it open. He sucked in a breath as his eyes found Kathy, her skin the white-blue of death. If not for that and the blood dried and coagulated at the corners of her mouth and nostrils, he could have believed she was sleeping. "F-found it," he whispered, displeased with the effort it took to keep his voice even. He flipped to the next page as Secret appeared in a golden flash next to him. _Don't want her to see that. At least they'll have cleaned up the body by now. I hope._

He didn't have to worry. She made no attempt to look over his shoulder, staring instead at the rows of stainless steel refrigerated cabinets embedded in the far wall. "What--what does it say?"

His eyes moved over the pictures and the initial examiner's report, committing them to memory even as his mind railed. _And I've got to look at the body too._ "Found naked in a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant in town. No identification. Fingerprints," _burned off_, "inconclusive. They're hoping to identify her through dental records, think they'll have results by tomorrow morning. Initial estimates put the time of death between 2:30 and 3:00 PM. They decided it was a homicide from the head injury, and it mentions some unusual contusions on the upper chest." He sighed. "Full autopsy is scheduled for," he pressed a button, bringing up his mask's chronometer, "ninety minutes from now. There's a note on here about calling in the pathologist on her day off. The police will be pushing for a rush job. We're going to need to make this fast."

Secret frowned sharply, glowing eyes glistening with unshed, vaporous tears. "Do they ... do they have to c-cut her up? I watched a documentary once and saw how they ... there's saws and vacuums and ..." she shuddered, her gaseous body rippling. "Do they really have to do that?"

He felt his own eyes water. "I'm afraid so, angel. It's a homicide investigation, so they have to be as thorough as possible."

"So wrong." She sighed.

_The really awful part._ "We--I need to look at the body. You don't have to if you don't--"

"No," she shook her head. "I need to see. Traya's going to ask, and I need to be able to answer."

Robin nodded. "Okay. Says she's in locker 12-B. Just let me copy these."

"No hurry," she whispered.

He pulled a handheld scanner from his belt and unfolded it until it resembled the business end of a dust buster wide enough to accommodate a normal sheet of paper, and quickly flipped through the documents again from the beginning, scanning each. He planned to go over them all more thoroughly after they found Traya. A minute later, he was done. "Let's go."

They crossed the room quickly, and Robin grabbed the cabinet's handle, then hesitated, glancing at Secret.

"Go ahead," she said softly, "I'm ready."

"Okay," he whispered back, "but I'm not sure I am." Taking a deep breath, he pulled.

The tray was on rollers; they barely squeaked as it slid forward. Robin held his breath as a blast of subzero air hit him full in the face. _Fully frozen._ He blinked as the cold fog rising from the body was sucked away from him, and turned to see it flow into Secret's waiting hand. Then she was next to him, staring down.

"Kathy," she whispered, "oh, Robin, it's really her."

It was. Undeniably. For a moment he couldn't say anything. He was too busy gulping back the bile in his throat. He traced a finger over her cheek, stiff with _rigor mortis_. And _damn it_, they hadn't cleaned her up yet. "Y-yeah." _Goodbye, Kathy._

Secret closed her eyes--the blue lights winked out, a look of concentration on her face. "She wasn't stuck here. She's gone into the light. I can tell. Robin, I can't bring her--"

"I know," he whispered. "I understand."

"Will Traya, when we find her?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "I don't ... eventually." _Concentrate._

As he fumbled for a rod mounted mirror in his belt, Secret moved past him and leaned forward, her head solidifying for the barest moment as she laid a kiss on Kathy's forehead. She brushed away a strand of the older woman's hair. "Goodbye, Kathy. I love you." She blinked back tears, totally intangible again, mask back in place.

Robin said nothing, leaning forward with the mirror instrument. Kathy was totally frozen, so he didn't want to attempt moving her head if he could help it. It would do no good to leave evidence of their visit. He positioned it so he could clearly see a reflection of the back of her head. He found a huge dent, frozen blood and what had to be grey matter in her hair. _Definitely_, he thought, with some difficulty, _a fatal wound._

"Robin," Secret's artificially low, yet still wispy, voice shook him out of his sudden brooding. "Where's the clue? You said there had to be some sign..." Tiny smoke puff clouds fell freely from her glowing orbs, all evaporating and floating back into her body before they'd gotten past her shoulders.

"Yeah," he shook himself. "Yeah, I did. This," he gestured at her head, "this would've been enough, but the report mentioned contusions on the chest. Said they seemed to be in a pattern." He gently took the edges of the no-stick sheet covering her body and pulled it back, feeling himself blush with something almost like shame. He wasn't supposed to see Kathy Sutton naked. Certainly not like this.

But there they were. "Look. Her skin is ... dented in these spots. Like the bones were crushed by something about the size of a hammer. The ribcage itself is slightly caved."

"Fingers," Secret breathed, the barest hint of righteous anger seeping into her voice. From the way her mouth twisted into an almost-snarl, she was holding back a lot more than that. An intangible digit filled one of the holes before she drew it back. "You said someone threw her hard enough to dent the wall. They wouldn't need a hammer to do this if they had super strength."

He nodded. _Exactly._ "Good observation. Some kind of pattern." He looked at the gashes. "Wait a second. In that file...there's a picture of Traya. Whoever wrote it indicated the picture as found in the center of these markings."

"But what is it?" Greta stared for a moment, before she opened her hand. Her fingers evaporated into almost nothing as she formed several dots, each positioned in relation to the others just as these strange injuries were, and started using a strand of smoke to connect them. She was already halfway through her first shape. It was a meaningless tangle, and the unhappy look on her face told him she knew it, but still...

"Great idea," the side of his mouth twitched up. He shifted on his feet, his shadow falling over what he couldn't help but think of as a puzzle. Then he blinked. The darkness pooling on Kathy's chest looked almost like... "No..." He turned to Secret. "Connect them like this," he raised a finger to her floating dots, moving it quickly from one to the other. She said nothing, just nodded as the thread wound itself around. Five seconds later, they were done.

"Oh my God," she half-whispered, half-screamed. "Oh my God, it's a--"

"Bat," he finished, hissing. He felt almost dizzy. "The one Batman wears over his chest. And Traya's picture was right in the middle of this collapsed area. "Bat ... collapsed ... Traya in a collapsed place? But that doesn't explain the bat ... Bat ... collapsed ... sternum caved in ... _bat_ ... _cave_ ..." His eyes widened as Secret covered her mouth to muffle a scream. He stumbled, and she was suddenly behind him, wrapping a suddenly solid arm around his waist for support, even as she hurriedly stretched her other out to rearrange the sheet and close the cold chamber. He found his legs just as it snapped shut, and they moved towards the nearest window.

"Robin," Secret hissed, panic tingeing her voice. "How?"

A cold sweat broke across his back. "I don't know, but it's too much of a coincidence. The points lined up perfectly. It's Batman's symbol. _Traya's in the Batcave._" He pulled out his Boom Tube generator as he tapped his earpiece. "Alfred, take down the Boom Tube shields around the Cave! _Hurry!_"

The Englishman didn't question him. Fifty seconds later he received confirmation that the scrambling field was down, and one second after that he and Secret leapt into a swirling white vortex.

* * *

Robin fell into a rolling crouch as he exited the portal, the hint of guano in the stale air confirming he was in the Cave even before he had time to blink. The Crays' massive central terminal was dark, still in standby mode. _Security system hasn't been tripped._ _Need to search every square inch. Start here and--_

"I can't sense anyone but--_Traya! _It has to be!" Greta let her disguise fall away, eyes wide with shock. "She's somewhere here, alone, and--Tim! I can feel...she's too close to crossing over. Something's wrong. I can track her, I think. _Follow me._" He was on his feet before she finished speaking. She disappeared in a golden-brown flash, flying down the rock face. He jumped after her, his grapnel finding a stalactite and slowing his descent just enough that his knees only slightly buckled when he hit the very lowest level of the cave a few seconds later. He twisted his belt buckle, and the xenon bulb hidden there came to life as he activated his starlite lenses. She was already disappearing around a corner, and he tossed a glance up as he followed her. The main level was at least sixty feet above them.

Bruce didn't use this portion of the cave for anything, not even storage. The air was too musty, he said, and it was best to leave some area of the cave completely natural for its other inhabitants. He and Dick hid down here every once in a while--when they needed to wrap presents without being disturbed or just wanted to talk or anytime they needed privacy that the surveillance fantasy that was the main cave and manor would not afford, but he hadn't explored all the caverns. The bats that nested down here weren't as used to humans, and tended to be a little bit more ... territorial. He finally caught up with her, and then he heard the unmistakable sound of flapping.

"Is that--?" Greta started.

"Bat wings." _What the hell? They should be asleep right now._ "They don't sound too happy." They sounded _pissed_, but he wasn't going to say that out loud. But there was something under that, and as they turned the corner he thought it sounded almost like muffled--

_Screaming._

Some detached part of his mind knew they only stood there a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. His night-vision lenses were quickly overloaded by several bright lamps strung across the ceiling, and he clicked them off without thinking about it. _There aren't supposed to be lamps here._ There had to be at least a hundred screeching bats gathered in a cloud in the center of the flat, open chamber. Then he saw it: in the middle of the mass, a flash of something pink. Another shift in the cloud and he made out what had to be a head, small, dirty, and limp. "There!" He pulled a flashbang from his belt, shifted back to make the toss, and stopped dead as a horrible screeching filled the air.

"_Get away from her!"_ Greta howled, her body suddenly twice it's normal size. In a flash, she stretched out her arms and sent two jets of smoke at the cloud. They curved around at the last minute, saturating every bit the area except, he realized, the center. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her face, lips pressed into an impossibly thin line, blue eyes glowing almost too brightly to look at. A chorus of tiny thuds drew his attention back to the swarm--all of which now lay twitching but otherwise unmoving on the cave floor. She remembered how to fight, alright.

"They're not dead," Robin heard her whisper as she pulled the fog back into herself. He wouldn't have cared if she'd cooked them all, but it was important for her to let him know she was in control.

Another instant, and the fog had rolled back far enough for them to get a good look at her. She was dangling in midair, cord that looked suspiciously like his own jumpline monofilament binding her wrists above her head and wound on the other end around several grooves in the rock. Her hands were purple from lack of circulation. Her sundress was roughly torn in the back from her shoulders to tailbone. Dozens of scratches covered her body; blood was everywhere, even on her face, where someone had put goggles over her eyes. One of which was terribly swollen. More of the line encircled her ankles, leading to an eighty-pound anvil he recognized from the metal shop on the main level.

As he was taking these things in, Traya seemed to grow bigger in his vision, as though his mind was shunting away every other bit of sensory input and focusing on her. He didn't realize until he blinked that he'd been running across the room, and now stood directly in front of her. Greta floated next to him, horror burned across her face. Neither seemed capable of finding words; the only sound a low mewing from Traya he'd mistaken for muffled screams. That cold, detached part of him that was busy cataloguing the scene for later analysis (after he'd gotten Traya out of there and thrown up) realized the bats had been attacking her for so long she was probably too exhausted to scream. But bats didn't attack objects they didn't see as threats. And if someone had just hung her there nothing should've set them off...and kept them agitated. The rest of him was too shocked, for the moment, to do much of anything.

"Traya?" Greta called. The girl moaned a bit louder. She wasn't completely conscious. "We've got to cut her down," Greta hissed, energy back in her voice. Her hands became semi-solid, fingernails growing into long talons.

"Wait!" Robin hissed, brining himself back into focus as best he could. "Grab the line and pick it up. We have to take as much pressure off her legs as we can before we cut it." _Should call them. And tell them what?_ Trying to explain this now would destroy what little composure he had left.

"No problem," she hissed back, snatching a tangle of line and winding it around her wrist." Traya gasped as the pressure was taken off. Robin fingered the line above her hand.

_Completely slack. I'd forgotten how strong you were._ He wound a finger around a bit of line between Greta's hand and Traya's feet and, drawing a laser-sharpened switchblade from his boot, cut through it in one smooth motion. He stepped away. "It's loose." She tossed it effortlessly across the room. "I'll grab her under the arms and take the pressure off her wrists, then you can cut her down."

She nodded. "Okay," she said softly, floating up and reforming a hand into talons as he gently caught her hips and lifted her up. "That should be enough. Hold her arms with your other hand and bring them down slowly. Her hands and shoulders are going to be in a lot of pain after this, between having been held in place so long and proper blood flow being restored." He had to be professional about this. A slip in concentration and he knew he'd lose it.

"Like they aren't already," Greta said sadly, her own voice steely. "Ready." She wrapped her hand around her roommate's small wrists and sliced the rope with a smoky claw. Just as quickly she moved her hand, now free of cutting edges to Traya's back, stabilizing her as Robin situated himself so he was supporting her neck and holding her legs. Greta gasped. "There's something back here. On her shoulder, like," she fell silent for a moment, eyes wide. "Someone cut something into her. Some kind of symbol." She shuddered. "We should've been here sooner, Traya. I'm so sorry."

"Me too. But we're here now, Traya. You're safe." Just more moaning. Still, she looked closer to consciousness with each passing moment. "Let's get her on the ground," he said softly, starting to kneel. "Try not to bend her arms any more than you have to for now." She opened her mouth, and he guessed she was about to ask why, but he slipped and let her knee bend too much, and she keened as her eyes fluttered not quite open. "Damn. Sorry, sweetheart. I won't do it again, I swear."

"Tim, can you do anything...?" A wave of smoke billowed from her feet, and he watched as it lifted the grime from the floor. They gently laid her down, Greta keeping her hand between Traya's injured shoulder and the floor until Robin handed her a gauze pad to slide under it. "Why won't she wake up?"

Robin shuddered at the desperation in her voice. He felt it too. Slowly, and paying special attention to her swollen eye, he lifted the goggles away. The skin underneath was pale and pristine, and stood out in violent contrast with the blood everywhere else. He laid the goggles aside. He would put them in an evidence bag before they left. "She's trying to, I think. If she were totally unconscious she wouldn't be reacting like this. She's completely exhausted and," he gestured at the blood everywhere, "the blood loss isn't helping." _We've got to get her out of here, now. But we can't just pick her up._ He grabbed a penlight from his belt and opened her good eye. The pupil retracted sharply. It's swollen twin fluttered open for an instant, and he managed to catch it to. _Likely no head injury._

"We need to get her out of here," Greta said forcefully. "Can you wrap her in something?"

He nodded. "I've got a thermal blanket in my cape," he said quickly, moving for one of the pouches on his cloak. But then he paused. "Let's see if we can make her more comfortable first. Acupressure. I can take some of the pain out of her arms so we can lower them without putting her in agony0." His hands were on her shoulders before he finished speaking, looking for the pressure points he needed. "She'll still feel it, but," he started pressing on the pressure points, "this'll at least take the edge off so we can pick her up without..." he trailed off, unable to finish.

"Okay," Greta said again. She stroked Traya's hair. "Can you wake up for us, Traya? Please?" Her voice shook, and he felt his eyes watering again.

"Oh God," he sobbed, hands never stopping in their work, "Traya, I'm so sorry. I never even thought to look--the security systems weren't tripped--it never even occurred to me..."

Greta's hand cupped his cheek. "That isn't important now. None of us could've known. What matters is we're here now. Where's the thermal blanket?"

He nodded. _I'm glad you're with me, Greta._ "Biggest pouch on the right edge." He felt her tug on his cape and caught a flash of silver as she cleaned off another section of the floor and spread it out. "There's a switch under the fabric, in the corner." Gently, as slowly as possible, he laid one arm across her stomach, and then the other. Her moans were louder now. She was coming around, slowly but surely. "That should be enough for now. Grab her legs and we'll slide her over." He slid his own hand under her shoulder, carefully holding the gauze in place as they lifted her barely off the ground and settled her on the blanket.

Greta started to wrap her up. "That's better, isn't it? We're going to warm you up and take you to Leslie. She'll," her voice hitched, "she'll make it better, I promise."

"Gre..." Traya slurred, and Robin could've whooped as her eyes fluttered open--one of them anyway. "Greta?" She found the older girl and reached for her. "You're puffy again." This seemed to reassure her.

Greta took her hand, a genuine smile on her face. "I'm here. Robin and I are both here. I got my powers back so I could help find you."

"Hey, sweetheart," Robin smiled as best he could as she found him with her good eye, "We've got you all wrapped up and we're going to take you to a doctor. Your legs and arms are pretty stiff, so it's going to hurt a bit when we move you."

"Shouldn't have wrapped me up," she frowned. "Demon lady ... scared me. Had an accident. You'll get your blanket dirty..." She sounded ashamed, but before either could say anything her eye widened. "She hurt my back. Made the bats attack me. They wouldn't stop ..." She started to sob, and Greta picked her up, rocking her gently.

"Shh," Greta wiped away her tears with a wispy strand of vapor. "They're gone now. They can't hurt you anymore. And ... it's okay if you had an accident. Sometimes it happens when you're really scared."

Traya coughed. "They hurt Mommy, too. Did Daddy send you to look for me?"

"Yes," Robin said hoarsely. "Yes, he did." It wasn't a lie. He had made a promise, a long time ago.

"I'm sleepy, Greta," she yawned, "and sore."

"It's safe to sleep now, sweetie," Greta smiled at her. "We've got you." She drifted off then, and Greta looked at Robin. "I'll hold her on this plane if I have to."

He smiled thinly. "I know. I--" He shifted, and his foot brushed into something. It was small and black and flat. He picked it up, and scowled. "Damn them," he growled, suddenly angry again.

She blinked. "What?"

"This explains the bats," he spat, glaring at the remote. "I'll tell you more later. We need to go."

"Should we take her through a Boom Tube?" Greta chewed on her lip as she stared down at the girl in her arms. "It might make her sick."

He shook his head. "I know. But the teleporter goes nowhere except the Watchtower. We don't even know if it's still up there. It'll take a minimum of two hours to get back to the Fortress in the Batwing ... which I don't want to fly until I can verify it hasn't been tampered with. Traya needs medical attention _now_. Even if it makes her nauseous, a Boom Tube won't hurt her."

She nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Tell them we're coming?"

He pulled out his Boom Tube generator and opened a channel. "Alfred. We found Traya. She was here the whole time, in one of the lower sections."

"_I beg your pardon? How could that be possible? My God, all this time..."_ Alfred, as usual, managed to keep his voice under perfect control while ranting.

Robin shuddered. "We have to assume the entire system's been compromised. We're coming through now. Tell Leslie she's in bad shape. Out."

"_Understood, Master Robin. We will be awaiting your arrival."_

Robin pressed a button on the generator, and the portal came to life in front of them. "Go ahead and take her through. I want to grab those goggles. I'll be right behind you."

"Right," Greta shook her head, looking at him with worried eyes. "At least we found her, Tim. She's safe now." She flew into the portal. "...That's all that matters. Don't worry about anything else until she's with Leslie."

He knew that...but it didn't do anything to abate the horrible feeling of failure churning in his stomach as he slid the goggles into an evidence bag and ran after them. He couldn't shake an overriding thought, even as a part of him puzzled over the sense of violation he was feeling at knowing the Cave had been used as a ... torture chamber. _Bruce wouldn't have let this happen._


	14. Days of Future Past I

A/N: As the title indicates, this is the start of another mini-arc, which is really my excuse for not being able to write chapters as short as I want. But I just couldn't break this one up any more than I did. I've already got the next chapter outlined, and one scene written. These two chapters should set everything up for the grand finale, even if it's still a good ways away. As usual, I own nothing. Any feedback at all is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

As they cleared the Boom Tube vortex and soared towards Byron's apartment, Superboy risked a glance towards Wonder Girl. She'd barely spoken since they had left her mother's room at the Fortress. He shuddered. Helen _still_ hadn't woken up, and he'd been stuck sitting there watching Cassie stare silently at her bandaged face. _All these powers, and I can't do a damned thing but sit by and watch_. Before she clammed up Cassie told him what happened, and as bad as he wished he could've been there instead of Robin, part of him was glad he didn't have to see Helen before she was bandaged up. The idea of using his X-Ray vision to look gave him chills. And he knew better than to think Cassie's silence meant she was doing anything other than finding new and interesting ways to blame herself. _Well, let's see if I'm not _totally _useless. And hey, maybe she wants to talk._ There had to be some reason she was flying so slowly. "Hey, Cass?"

She tossed him a sidelong look, scowl never leaving her lips. "I'm _fine_, Kon," she growled--or maybe that was just the wind whipping in his ears.

He narrowed his eyes, suddenly angry. There was no way he was going to stand by and let her do this to herself, act like Tim at his very Bat worst. "No, you're not," he said softly, spinning his body towards her. "And you don't have to pretend you are, especially with me."

She screeched to a halt and grabbed his arm, fixing him with a look that would've promised pain if not for the tears in her eyes. "Maybe ... maybe I'm not pretending for _you_, Kon. Maybe ... not for any of you."

He tilted his head. _Huh?_ He knew he didn't have Tim's scary psychological skills, but he liked to think he was a little smarter than he used to be. But she was staring at him with something harsh reflecting in her gaze, and he had no idea what. "Cassie?"

She looked away. "Diana," she sighed, "Diana always tells me Amazons have to be strong--like mountains. Rock can be worn down, even cracked, but a mountain will outlast anything that tries to conquer it, because it's a mountain. Amazons have to keep getting up no matter how many times they're knocked down, until they can't get up anymore, because that's what it means to be a warrior."

She stared at the clogged highway, two-thousand feet below. "I have to keep going and not let myself stop to think about what's going on. Mom's _blind_ because I was the only one who failed and when she wakes up I'm gonna have to tell her she'll never see again because I couldn't handle those ... things. I--Hera, this is going to sound awful, but it's the truth--until she comes around I can pretend she won't hate me. So let me pretend I've got it under control, Kon. Let me play like I'm what Diana wants me to be and not--I can fight fine, you know? My stomach's almost healed up. But I don't want to. I just want to, like, hide in my room--if its even still there--and pretend this isn't happening." She scoffed, and it turned into a sob. "Some mountain, huh?"

"Cass," Kon opened his arms, and she floated into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and curling her fingers through his hair. He gasped at the coolness of her bracers against his skin, and something wet fell through the back of his hair. _Okay. I need to come up with something really brilliant and profound._ He sighed. _Yeah, right. God ... Rao ... anybody--I could use some help down here. We all could._ "Your mom won't hate you, I promise. You're lucky. See," he forced himself to smile with his voice. "You've got one of those Canada moms. You know, the kind that'll put you in a trunk and sneak you across the border if the cops come after you for killing your obnoxious boyfriend with a Kyriptonite frying pan?"

She squeezed him tighter, and he knew his bones would start popping if she went much further. He returned the gesture. She giggled softly. "You got it all wrong, Kon. She said I had to fly to Canada on my own. She would pretend to drive me to Mexico to buy time."

He blinked. _Wow._ He wasn't about to ask if that particular conversation had been serious or not. "She's not dead, Cass," he whispered. "They came to kill her and _you stopped them_. You know she's not going to hate you for that."

She sniffled. "But--"

"You know she won't. Even _I_ know she won't, and I think we've established I'm not the brightest bulb in the box." He pecked her on the temple. "She's too ... she loves you too much to blame you for this."

She pulled back, looking at him with puffy, red eyes. "Even if you're right," and the look in her eyes told him she knew he was, "this changes everything. She won't be able to work like before or--it's all going to be different now, Kon. How are we going to afford food and electricity and," she sighed, "I don't know what's going to happen."

It was as close to an admission of fear as she was likely to get. "I know," he whispered. "But whatever happens, we're all here, Cassie. _I'm_ here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'll help." He took a deep breath. "I promise." He smiled a watery smile.

"Just," she wiped at her eyes, "don't go away, Kon. We've already lost Reddy and Kathy. _Don't you leave me_."

He shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

She laid her head on his shoulder, and started fooling with the edge of his cape with the hand not tangled in his hair. "You'd better not. It took way too long for me to get you to lose you now."

He grinned, feeling like maybe he'd actually done something right. "I didn't really like the wait either."

She smiled. "I love you, Kon-El. Hope you don't mind having one of those girly, blubbery girlfriends."

"I love you too, Cassie." Their lips met, and fire shot down the back of his head to his feet and back again. Eventually, they had to part for air. "Blubbery? If you weren't affected by what happened, I'd start to worry someone replaced you with a robot. And not the cool sex kind." She blinked, and hit him in the shoulder, not gently. But she was smiling. He grinned. "Yeah, yeah, bad joke," he said, voice low, "that whole invincible rock thing? I remember feeling very hurt more than once, and always finding this wonderful girl who would let me cry on her shoulder till I could talk again. Even when she was annoyed with me and had been hitting me in the side of the head with her bracers just an hour before. I'm glad she wasn't too busy acting like a mountain."

She cupped his cheek, and he laid a hand over hers. "Kon..."

"Diana's a goddess, sweetheart. Immortal. If she wants to be a mountain--well, she _is._ Superman's a living legend and Earth's favorite hero and I just happen to be a kid who has most of his powers. Don't make yourself miserable trying to be someone else, or holding yourself to their standard. I did, for a long time. We're us, and we're human, mostly, and that's okay. We'll win, even if we're hurting."

She smiled thinly. "We haven't lost yet, have we?"

He grinned. "Never."

She took his hand as they started gliding forward again. "So, tell me, o sage ... have you been hiding and watching Dr Phil behind my back?"

He shuddered slightly. "You aren't the only one who's ever had a crisis of confidence." She just grinned.

"Do you think they've found Traya yet?" she asked suddenly, grin fading.

He frowned. That really wasn't something he wanted to think about. "I hope so," he said. "But it seems like if they had we would've heard something."

"Robin likes delivering bad news in person," she said lowly.

He grimaced. "Yeah, there's that too. I just--" his eyes, narrowed. "Damn."

She frowned, tightening her grip. "What?"

"This place we're going, it's an apartment complex, right? The Crimson Bordellos?" _That's just sad. The Flying Wang would be better._

She rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately, yes. Why? Can you see it? We're getting pretty close."

"Can't see it," he grimaced, "there's a building in front of us with lead paint, believe it or not. But I can _hear_ it. It's crawling with cops. There's been a murder." His eyes widened. "I can hear--I think a detective. She's talking on the radio and ... oh, _hell_. Byron's dead."

Cassie's eyes widened. "_What?_"

"That's what I'm hearing," he narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like they haven't been there very long. Their communications problems are still slowing them down, I guess."

She narrowed her eyes, the earlier nervousness and pain flooded out. "I think I've slowed us down enough. Let's go see just what's going on."

He thought about arguing that their discussion had been just as necessary as anything else, but decided it really wasn't the time. When she poured on the speed he matched her, and they soared through the air, hand in hand.

* * *

Alfred once more found himself standing in the Fortress' landing bay, among several of the Justice's League's spare Javelins and even a small fleet of crystalline stars that he guessed were Kryptonian aircraft, waiting for Master Timothy to return with wounded. _Another poor soul in "bad shape," whatever that means._ He scowled. Master Bruce had chosen a protégé whose gift for euphemism perhaps surpassed his own. But it would be worse this time than Mrs Sandsmark or Mrs Hayes; they were bringing back a child. And moral outrage aside children, especially young ones, were simply smaller and more fragile, particularly when injured. He did his best to focus on the girl and her wellbeing, and not the increasingly painful idea that his own home had become a den of torture when his back was turned. Surely Master Timothy would be entertaining the same thoughts, undoubtedly blaming himself. _So like Bruce._

"You okay, Mr Pennyworth? You're awfully quiet over there."

He started, looking across the stretcher at his waist towards his companion. He found Bonnie a fine lady, and a fine mother--she wasn't the first parent to project her own hopes and dreams onto a child, but she was one of the precious few to admit her mistake and do everything in her power to make amends--that counted for a great deal in his book. It had taken Masters Bruce and Dick years to do the same, and more often than he liked they relapsed into mutually self-destructive, emotionally stunted behavior. He turned, smiling at her and willing the fatigue off his face. "Young lady, I'm afraid you caught me stewing." _But then again_, he thought, _Bruce has been more accepting and welcoming of Miss Greta than I would have ever expected._ He shook his head. _Perhaps there is yet hope for him..._

She chuckled, her face, prematurely aged by years of smoking and stress, but not terribly so, crinkling in a smile. "No problem. I'm not entirely thrilled about having to be down her either." Her voice lowered, and her smile fell away. "How many more times will we have to come down here to collect broken, beaten bodies? God, how could I _ever_ have wanted this for Cissie so _blindly_? Even after that jackass stabbed her with her own arrow I still--I go to bed every night and thank God for not taking my baby even when I was too stupid to deserve her. Every time someone else comes back here torn up I thank Him again because it's not her. Does that make me a bad person, Mr Pennyworth? Selfish?"

He blinked, hand moving almost by reflex to pass her the hankerchief he kept folded in his back pocket. As she dabbed her suddenly moist eyes, he conjured up a smile. "No. Of course not." He resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. Like everyone else, she was becoming more stressed and unstable with every passing moment. Soon, people would start to crack. But whatever else he was going to say died on his tongue as a vortex of swirling light filled his vision, and an unholy howling attacked his ears. Master Timothy and Miss Greta had finally returned. He straightened his back, resolutely ignoring every protesting pop and spasm.

* * *

_It should feel stranger_, Robin decided, assaulted on all sides by noise and light and the feeling that he was being pulled into a thin string like molten candy, _moving through a wormhole the thickness of a pencil._ He was aware that Greta was somewhere ahead of him, Traya unconscious but nestled safely in her superhumanly strong arms. He barely had enough time to wonder why he couldn't see her, even though they entered the Tube barely thirty seconds apart, before a rushing wind joined the sensations overloading his brain, and he knew the ride was almost over. _Thank God. Hope you can manage another miracle or two, Leslie._

He blinked--or at least it _felt_ like he blinked, the light in his eyes never dimmed--and found himself stumbling across the floor of the landing bay. He straightened up and found Greta, fully corporeal again, Bonnie, and Alfred situating Traya on a stretcher, both of them staring at the bundled up girl with a mixture of compassion and horror in their eyes. _Yeah, that's about right_. He paused, catching a flash of what had to be fury in Alfred's gaze. _Whoa._ He crossed the room, but not before Greta rolled the semi-conscious girl on her side and pulled back the gauze covering the brand on Traya's shoulder. Bonnie turned green.

"Bloody ... _damn it_," Alfred growled, face contorted in anger. Tim had been about to speak, seeing as he was almost on top of Greta and didn't want to make her jump out of her skin, but clamped his jaw shut, shocked at the outburst as she paled. He tried and failed to remember the older man ever losing his cool with witnesses around.

"I ... we got her here as fast as we could," Greta whispered. "I'm sorry..." She brushed bloodied locks of hair off Traya's face with shaking fingers, squeezing the barely conscious girl's hand. Traya mewed softly.

Alfred's face immediately softened. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you. Merely ... there is only so much one can see before one's composure begins to slip."

"Yeah," Robin nodded, coming up to stand next to his girlfriend. _Still_, he shuddered. Alfred losing his cool scared the hell out of him, just on principle. He took a deep breath.

Bonnie looked up from where she was tucking a blanket around Traya's waist. "Robin--Tim--there's a lot of blood down here..."

He gulped. He'd noticed that too. Thankfully, Greta either hadn't seen it or didn't stop to think about possible implications. "Just ... do whatever you need to do."

Alfred started to move the stretcher towards the door. "We will, young man." He turned so he was facing Greta as well, "most of her injuries appear superficial--it is the cumulative affect we'll need to worry about the most, I think. She will need a blood transfusion, more than likely, and intravenous antibiotics."

Bonnie nodded. "You got her back. That's the important thing." Robin didn't miss the wetness around her eyes.

Greta frowned, looking up from the moist cloth she was using to wipe the blood off Traya's face as they walked. "Will she need a lot of blood? I--I can't give her any of mine."

Robin squeezed her shoulder briefly. Her anemia was an open secret--not something she liked to talk about, but not something she was tried to hide, either. _Just one of Darkseid's little parting gifts._ "We'll find enough," he assured her. "Between all of us, we'll find enough, or we'll go to a blood bank. Whatever she needs, we'll get it."

"Indeed," Alfred smiled at her. "Now, I would suggest the two of you announce your return. The others are quite anxious to see you again."

Robin brushed a lock of Traya's hair, staring blankly at the drying blood on his glove. "Wish we didn't have to tell them _this_."

"She isn't dead, kid." Bonnie smiled at him. "Whatever else happened, she _could_ be dead." She looked away slightly. "Things could be so much worse."

"Yeah," Greta nodded, finding his hand.

A single thought hung in between them as they left the landing bay. _But it's not over yet._

* * *

Dana couldn't figure out if her current conversation with Jack counted as progress or beating a dead horse. At any rate, Jack was quickly working his way back into a funk. "Honey, I don't know what to tell you. You're just going to have to ask him."

"Do you think he would give me a straight answer?" he grumbled.

"If you ask him like a civilized person, I think so, yes. But it might take a while," she frowned, looking out the viewport of the little crystal alcove that had somehow become their private spot. "I think the reason he kept us in the dark so long must be very complicated." _Probably not something he'd feel like he could explain quickly, or even all at once._

"Yeah," Jack sighed, "I can believe that. Damn, Dana, every time I feel like I'm starting to have this all figured out, something else happens. I mean, that girl, Greta--what the hell just happened there? What the hell is a warder?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but--Tim said they would tell us what happened, eventually." She frowned at the snow and the ice. When the girl disappeared in an explosion of light and reappeared golden and glowing Dana voice had deserted her, but even if it hadn't she doubted she would've been able to come up with anything more intelligent than Jack's outburst. Dana still thought she had looked almost like an angel, but there was something deep in those glowing blue orbs, powerful and dangerous. She must've been staring, because Greta fixed her with a questioning, wary look. _Almost like she thought I was afraid of her._ She'd found her voice purely out of a need to convince the girl that wasn't the case. "Right now, I'm honestly more worried about the little girl they went to find."

Jack nodded, looking out at the snow. "What do you think will happen to her? No one's mentioned any sort of plan."

Dana frowned. "I don't know. I think everyone's too busy trying to get through this to think about it. And she's going to have to be told, Jack," her eyes moistened. "Someone's going to have to tell her about her parents."  
"Yeah," he frowned. "I wonder who?"

"Who what, Dad?" Tim asked from behind them--and it was Tim, not at all Robin. They both spun on their feet to face him, and gasped.

He was covered in blood. Again. This time there wasn't as much, thank God, and most of it was smeared on his chest and looked pretty dry. Jack pointed. "What...?"

Tim looked down. "Oh." His face fell, and he faced the window. "It's not mine." He paused. "We found her."

Dana could feel the blood drain from her face. The way he said it, it wasn't good news. "Is she ..." She wasn't sure she could handle it if he said she was dead.

Tim jerked his head towards her, blushing. "What? No. God, no. She's lost a lot of blood, is pretty scratched up, and maybe has a cracked rib, but she should be fine. She may need a blood transfusion, I don't know. Probably. But--" he gritted his teeth, and spun to face them so fast his cape whirled up behind him. "She was in the Batcave," he hissed, looking stricken. "The whole time. I never even thought--there are a dozen different alarms that would sound if anything bigger than a bat found its way down there without permission. Knock out gas, containment systems. Wall mounted tazer cannons, and more alien technology than I could describe in a week. There are even alarms on the security programs, to make sure they aren't tampered with. But she's been hanging there probably since they started and not _one_ failsafe triggered." His voice hitched. "Not one."

Dana blinked. His voice shook with hurt and shame and ... betrayal? But it was Jack that spoke, a look of intense concentration. "Tim? Are you alright? I know you must feel guilty," Tim tensed up, "but you didn't hurt her, son. You're trying to help her."

Something warm welled up in Dana's chest even as a wave of nausea overtook her at the news of exactly where the girl had been the entire time. Of course Tim wouldn't have thought to look there. It would be like Sherlock Holmes looking for Jack the Ripper under his bed. And Jack _wasn't_ acting like an ass.

She smiled faintly. "At least you found her, Tim."

He frowned. "That's what Alfred said. And Bonnie." He turned back to the window. "You know what this means, don't you? Bru--Batman's systems are some of the most airtight _in the world_. The only significantly more complicated systems are government owned, or in the Watchtower, or here--if you can count here, personally I really don't think you can compare Earth systems to Kryptonian tech." Dana realized with a jolt he was rambling. She had _never_ heard him ramble, and found she didn't like it one bit. "Point is, they put her down there and I didn't know it. They got past the Boom Tube shielding the Cave has in place, with no problem." He gritted his teeth, turning again to look at them. "Whether your technology is from New Genesis, Thanagar, Krypton, Earth, or Mars, there's really only one way to block a Boom Tube. If they can get in the Cave..." he trailed off, steepling his fingers in front of his face, just as she'd seen Jack do a million times.

The lenses in his masks narrowed to slits. _If they can get in the Cave, and there's only one way to disrupt one of those portal things..._ her eyes widened just as Jack swore. _Oh God._

"They can get in here," Jack growled. "_Jesus Christ._"

"Yeah," Tim growled, "we've got to assume they can."

Dana took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. She wasn't going to become a damsel in distress before this was over. _Not gonna happen._ "So, what do we do?"

"Get ready." He strode over to a wall, pressing his palm against a an octagonal piece that was just a slight shade darker than the surrounding crystal. Dana hadn't even noticed it. A monotone voice filled the air. "_Master Robin, what is your request?_"

"Our standard Boom Tube disruptor fields have been rendered ineffective. I need all data on possible alternative countermeasures, as soon as possible. Search all databanks. Include even partial solutions, and all cross-references."

"_This request is complicated. Significant time and resources will be required._"

"Best possible speed," Robin frowned. "Use all available resources not needed for critical functions and the infirmary." The lights dimmed slightly.

"_Understood. Working..._"

Robin removed his hand from the wall. "With any luck there are other options."

Dana nodded. _It's like watching two sides of his personality fight for control._ There was the superhero, and then there was the teenager underneath that wanted to curl up in a corner and hide. And it was obvious both of them were reaching their limits. But somehow, she didn't think the person these two personas created when they blended together would stop anytime soon. She couldn't decide whether that comforted or depressed her. _Both._

Jack frowned. "Tim, what happened to your suit? And where were you going?" Dana continued to be amazed. Actual, civil conversation!

"She was pretty messed up," Tim returned his gaze to the window. "She--there was blood everywhere, and I was holding her for a bit when we--when we cut her down."

Dana felt bile rise in her throat. "Tim, what happened? _All_ of it?"

"I'll tell you, but please--let me tell everyone at once? I don't know what's worse," he whispered. "Living it or having to talk about it. _Please?_ I just--I need to change. I left Greta down there alone and Traya will be waking up soon and ... we need to keep her as calm as we can. Seeing me covered in her blood isn't going to do that."

Jack groaned. "Shit."

Dana was about to say something, but a shrill noise cut through the air. "_This is Dr Thompkins. Anybody with either A-positive or O-type blood who feels up to donating ... we could use some up here."_ Dana frowned at the quaver in the woman's voice.

* * *

_Traya..._ Robin took a deep breath as he listened to Leslie. _Blood. We can handle that._

Almost before she was done speaking, Robin's earpiece chirped. "_This is Bart. I've got it."_

"Bart," Robin tapped his ear, broadcasting his response to all points, "what?"

"_I'm O-negative,"_ the speedster said. "_And I'll recover quicker than any of you. And ... I want to do this. I want to help."_

Robin breathed a sigh of relief. That solved _that_ problem. Bart really was the best choice if he was compatible. "Okay. Thanks Bart."

A yellow-red blur crossed his field of vision. Dana's shirt ruffled, and his cape fluttered. He smiled thinly.

Dana blinked. "Was that ...?" Robin nodded. "How fast...?"

"When he really pushes it, close to light speed. But he wouldn't break the sound barrier in the Fortress."

Jack whistled. "Damn."

Robin nodded. "Listen, I have to go. I'll meet you in the War Room. I won't be long."

With that, he turned and ran for the shower alcove where he'd left his spare costume. He blinked as something occurred to him. _Wow. Dad and I ... got along._ He frowned. _Not like we're really addressing anything, though. We're just too busy to be jackasses._ He tapped his ear as something else occurred to him. "Anita, I need you to look at something ..."

* * *

Stepping back from their volunteer, Alfred inspected his handiwork. He couldn't begin to fathom how the Kryptonian transfusion device worked. The three-foot tall translucent crystal pyramid glowed a vibrant gold, and he could just make out trails of blood being piped from one segment to the other--according to the computer undergoing various types of purification and enrichment with "vitamins and minerals beneficial to healing humans." Leslie had, of course, demanded and received a fully itemized list of both kind and quantity. _She was impressed with the selection. I think._ For the time being, they were foregoing the use of Kyriptonian medical nanites. It would be easier on her body to let her heal on her own as much as possible. Especially while she was so low on blood.

There were, as far as he could tell, no moving parts to the apparatus. Two tubes of what felt like quartz but flexed like plastic ran out of either side to opaque, white, two-inch thick octagons that attached to his charges' skin through what he could only guess to be some sort of molecular bonding. Whatever they were, they did all the work of finding the appropriate vein and regulating bloodflow and were, apparently, painless. _Impressive, but still, I would prefer having more control over the process._ From the way Leslie kept glaring at the contraption, he wasn't alone. He turned his attention to his charges.

He had convinced Miss Greta to leave shortly before they set to work cleaning up the child and assessing her injuries. It had taken some doing, and he greatly admired her fervent desire to watch over her young friend. Still, there was nothing she could do until Traya woke up, and letting her remain in attendance while they went over the child's body for injuries would accomplish nothing save letting her amplify her self-perceived guilt. It was a pattern he recognized easily. He wondered sometimes if Master Bruce realized how much they had in common. _Still, I would have had trouble getting her to leave if the young man had not arrived._ She had gone to see her mother, and as far as he knew, was still there. A pang of guilt shot through him. She _still_ had no idea what news was coming.

Alfred smiled reassuringly at the boy who called himself Kid Flash. Such was his desire to help that he had removed his gloves and rolled up both sleeves while running. Then he'd seen Traya and--Alfred knew from Batman's files and Master Timothy's accounts that Bart Allen, while vastly more mature than he used to be, was still in many ways the most childlike in this group. Never had it been so readily apparent to Alfred as when he laid eyes on Traya, and looked at them with the wide, frightened eyes of a lost little boy. Then, he stopped completely and crept towards her bed, as if any overly quick movement would hurt her further. When he finally made it to her side he held out a hand but pulled back, as if afraid to touch her.

His voice had been surprisingly soft. "_You guys can fix her, right? I mean, she'll be okay, won't she? After she gets some blood?"_

Leslie had appeared next to him then. "_Yes," _she had smiled a smile that made his own heart flutter a bit, "_I think so. According to these machines, she has no serious internal injuries and is suffering primarily from exhuastion and blood loss. Do you think you could help us with that, young man?"_ He just nodded, and they went from there. After hooking everything up, Leslie had absentmindedly told him to be still, and Alfred wasn't sure she realized he had likely taken it as a literal order. He barely twitched since, a look of extreme concentration and concern on his face as he watched them work.

And they _had_ worked quite hard. Traya's dress--a dark muddle of fabric that had maybe once been pink or red--had already been all but torn to shreds; they removed it in pieces, leaving her as covered as possible. The robots had provided a fresh set of Kryptonian children's clothing. It waited for its new owner in a chair, folded crisply. Bonnie cleaned--hygene was just as important as anything else with these sorts of injuries--while he and Leslie disinfected, examined, bandaged, and stitched, or rather, instructed a small floating medical robot to apply what appeared to be organic, medicated sealant, much stronger than the Earth-bound variety. All the while he did his very best to ignore the precise nature of the wounds. He could recognize a bat scratch or bite, and given where she was found, what had happened was obvious. _But how were they coerced into_--he closed his eyes forcefully. He would not allow himself to become distracted. It was merely a detail. One he was sure Master Timothy would supply in due time. His thoughts were interrupted as the exam room door started to chirp. Bart looked up, but remained silent.

"Enter," Alfred said softly. The door opened, revealing Miss Anita. Her mask was gone, but her emperor's stick was still shoved into her belt. She ran her fingers over it as she walked in. She looked at Traya and stopped in her tracks. Before he could move to comfort her, the girl's eyes narrowed and she swore at length in what to a proper European would be a bastardized form of French, but was to the rest of the world the Cajun dialect.

Master Bartholomew winced, apparently understanding her well enough. "Yeah. I know. They're going to fix her. They promised."

She nodded. "Tim sent me to look at the marking on her back," she said finally. "He thinks it might be magical in nature. Even if I don't know what it is, I should be able to tell if there's any mysticism involved." She stopped. Looking again at Traya with no small amount of trepidation in her eyes. "I can come back later ... if now isn't a good time."

"No, stay." Alfred turned towards Leslie, slightly surprised. He would have figured she would want privacy. "If this thing could hurt her, I want to know about it." She narrowed her eyes. "And if you're going to swear, young lady, please do so in English. It will make it much easier for me to vent vicariously through you. Bonnie, hand me those tweezers. There's something in one of these scratches--a piece of rock. Damn it."

Alfred winced, but focused on Miss Anita. "Very well. This way, young lady. We must first sterilize your hands and forearms."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

* * *

_Haven't heard from Kon and Cassie yet. Need to call them_, Robin thought, clasping his cape as he turned a corner towards Greta's mother's room. _Damn. Really worked myself in to a corner _there_. If I'd known it was going to take Leslie and Alfred so long to figure out what was up with Mrs. Hayes, I wouldn't have waited so long to tell Greta. When I do tell her, she's going to be _way _pissed off for not finding out sooner. If I tell her now, there's no way I can answer any of the questions she'll have, and she'll have to wait who knows how long while they stabilize Traya._ He shook his head. She was going to be mad at him. _Really_ mad, this time. _Please, anybody listening, let her forgive me._

His comm. chirped and he brought his hand to his ear, glad for the distraction. "Go ahead."

"_Hey, Birdman,"_ Robin grinned slightly. Beast Boy. "_We just left Blood's place. More like, got kicked out. You didn't tell us he was so--"_

"_Intense,"_ Raven cut in. "_Though he certainly has his reasons, I'm sure. Not the least of which would be us bringing a corpse contaminated with dark magic into his home. He told me that he would know how it was created by sunset. Probably sooner than that."_ She paused. "_Interesting man. Seemed to be of two minds about certain things."_

Robin stopped in his tracks. _Etrigan. She sensed him. Damn._ "I suppose. He likes to keep his ... indecisive moments ... to himself. Where are you now?"

"_Perched on Wayne Tower,"_ Gar said cheerily. "_We'd like to come back now. Mind lowering the Boom Tube shield?"_

He smiled, moving for a wall panel. "Consider it done."

"_Great. See you in five, Robin."_ He could almost hear the smile in Gar's voice. "_Hey! You're back, so that must mean you found the kid, right?'_

"_How is she?"_ Raven asked.

A slow chill ran down his spine. "Yeah, we found her. We ... she ... Bart's giving her a transfusion right now. Leslie told me she'd be fine. Eventually."

Silence.

"_What? Oh, no. What happened, man?"_ Robin felt almost guilty. Gar certainly didn't sound like he was smiling anymore.

"_I'm sure he will explain in detail when we return,"_ Raven said softly. "_When will the shield be down? I don't enjoy waiting in the snow very much."_

Robin placed his hand on the wall's interface plate. "Lower Boom Tube shields in the landing bay for two minutes. Now."

"_Confirmed."_

He tapped his ear. "You've got two minutes. You should be able to open a portal directly into the landing bay. See you then. Out."

"_Later,"_ Gar said softly, cutting the connection.

Robin resumed his stride towards where he knew Greta had to be. His earpiece beeped. He frowned. _Already? Did the shield stay up or something?_ He tapped his ear again. "This is Robin."

"_Hey, Fearless Leader."_ Robin smiled. Kon.

But he sounded ... subdued. The Urban Legend braced for more bad news. "What did you find?"

A pause on the other end. "_We're almost done here,"_ Cassie responded flatly. "_Robin, Byron's dead. He's _been _dead since last night."_

"_And we checked with the casino,"_ Kon continued. "_Someone with his handprint reported for work this morning and was on duty when Traya disappeared."_

_Another person lost to this madness._ Robin growled. _Well, that explains a few things._ "Sounds like we're dealing with a shapeshifter." He frowned. "Listen, if you're done there, head back. We need to discuss a few things, like Traya, and--" the comm. beeped. "Hold on. I've got another call coming in. Wait, no. Just head back here as soon as you can."

"_Right,"_ Kon sounded tired.

"_See you then,"_ Cassie added. He heard her suck in a breath. "_Hey, Robin, has my mother woken up yet?"_

He felt the corners of his lips pull themselves down. "Not ... not yet, Cassie. Alfred told me her vitals are stabilizing, though. It shouldn't be long now."

"_...Okay. See you soon, Robin."_ She cut the connection.

_When it rains, it pours._ He pressed a button, flipping over to the other line. "This is Robin."

"_Hello, Tim."_ Oracle sounded happier than she had in hours. "_I thought you'd like to know I am officially back online. Sorry it took so long--I haven't been hit so hard since the quake."_ Her voice grew serious. "_I thought you might like to know I managed to get through to our friends in Star City."_

_Mia. Connor._ A knot of tension he'd resolutely ignored since this started tightened itself. "And?"

"_They're fine, Tim. Aside from some serious shock and horror, that is--I gave them the short version of what's been going on."_

Robin raised an eyebrow. _How could they not know?_ "I take it our mystery assailant hasn't visited them? Or sent cockroach courtesans?"

He could almost hear her blink in surprise. "_Cockroach court--you've been spending too much time with a certain Former Boy Wonder."_ Her tone wasn't exactly joking. She sighed. "_But no, they haven't. Still, the city services and media outlets suffered attacks similar to those elsewhere. In addition to that, Connor and Speedy have had their hands full--Brick escaped. Sixteen guards are dead. Two dozen are injured. Been planning it for six months, according to the guards Connor talked to. Apparently Brick pretended to be staging a mass escape. Rooked ten of the most violent prisoners in the facility into helping him and--"_

"Killed them?" Robin interrupted. "He's not exactly loyal. Do they need help?"

"_Connor says no. For now. And before you asked, from everything I heard I'm thinking we're just dealing with an incredibly unfortunate coincidence."_

"I'm willing to buy that if you are." Robin narrowed his eyes. Brick was bad news, but those two could handle him. If the Titans didn't have to help, well, that would be for the better. _For now._ "Thanks for the update."

"_One other thing,"_ Oracle said quickly. "_Speedy wants you to know that, even though she's apparently not being targeted, she wants to be a part of going after this guy. I believe her exact words were 'Or does that Titans Together stuff not actually mean anything?'"_

"Glad to hear it," Robin said with a wide smile. "We could use a trump card or two. Where's Batgirl?"

"_The police are still trying to get back up to full speed. I know it's a little early, but I've got her checking the local hotspots, just in case anybody tries to start something. Only a few hours till sunset, anyway."_

Robin nodded to himself. _Good idea. If anyone can patrol stealthily in broad daylight, it's her._ "I'm surprised I haven't heard from her, actually." _I realize we're not exactly as close as we probably should be, but I figured she would've checked on me by now._

Apparently Barbara had some idea of what he was thinking. "_She's been very anxious to hear how you're doing, Tim, but ... I think this whole thing has her more freaked out than she wants to admit. I don't think she ever thought we could be _hunted _quite like this."_ She paused. "_That, and she heard about the whole no-mask policy you've got going."_

He raised an eyebrow, admonishing himself for not stopping to think how Cass would react to everything. "She's exempt from that, of course."

"_She knows that, but still doesn't feel comfortable. She didn't tell me why, exactly, but I'm guessing she recognizes the double standard and doesn't want to cause any more tension than there already is."_

Robin bristled at the implicit mention of his problems with his father--which were either miraculously fixing themselves or just being spectacularly ignored by both of them. He guessed the latter. Nothing felt resolved. _Let's not go there._ "So, you said you're back in operation. What the hell hit us?"

She answered quickly and calmly, not reacting in the slightest to his abrupt subject change. "_Woo, boy. I've got some idea what happened, and it's seven different kinds of nasty, let me tell you. Whoever did this is either brilliant or had inside knowledge or both, and we've got a lot of cleanup to do. But first--did you find Traya? My tracking feed--which it's very nice to have again, thankyouverymuch--shows you're back at the Fortress, and I expected to hear from you by now."_  
He sighed. He supposed it would be a good idea to tell her first. It would be good practice. "She was in the Cave, Oracle. This whole time, she was in the Cave."

He expected the shocked silence. Even the shrill yelling that followed wasn't a surprise, as much as it hurt his ear. "_What?! But--I checked the integrity of the Crays' system software. There's no record of any intruders. None of the tamper traps was triggered. Wait a second."_ He wasn't sure, but he thought he could hear typing. "_The system lost power and took twenty seconds to reboot at 2:31. It booted into safe mode. Total lockdown. And everything's working fine--it registered your presence when you Tubed in. Alfred must've done something then--it recorded Greta's entry but didn't sound an alarm when it couldn't identify her. His bypass code is in the logs... But according to these records Traya was never there. Shit. Where was she?"_

He ducked into an alcove. "One of the caverns on the lowest sublevel. Whoever put her there strung up lights and everything. Used one of our signal remotes to aggrivate the bats down there into attacking her. I'm not sure how yet. She's ... she's a mess, Babs. She was barely lucid when we found her and now Bart's giving her a blood transfusion. _She was there the entire time._"

Oracle sucked in a sharp breath. "Goddamn it. _Tell me everything, from the top."_

* * *

Robin entered the War Room, Greta once again at his side. He found her watching her mother sleeping, a sad smile on her face. Yet she had been more than eager to join him--watching her mother was a special sort of self-torture, he knew. _So here we are._

Gar and Raven were waiting off in a corner, along with Kon and Cassie, both floating near the room's single, large viewport. His parents and the Kents sat at the meeting table, looking tense. Cyborg and Snapper were still off in one of the Fortress' labs trying to repair his systems--Gar volunteered to fill them in afterwards. Agent Madd sat next to his father, looking pensive. _Never a good sign._ Most everyone else peered patiently out of the monitors set into the wall. Bart was in one, the camera so tightly focused on his face that it hid Traya and the transfusion equipment. He looked ill, and Robin knew it had nothing to do with the blood leaving his body. Alfred, Leslie or Bonnie occasionally ran through the frame, and he knew Anita was in there somewhere. None of them were mic'ed. _All too busy._ Oracle's symbol glowed in one of the monitors. He knew she would stay quiet for a while. She was in a listening mood.

"Sorry we're late," Robin smiled slightly, nodding at his parents. "I got a call from the Oracle. She's happy to report she's back online, and has an idea of what happened. Also, Arrow and Speedy have checked in--they're fine, but they've got their hands full with Brick right now, so we probably won't be seeing them for a while." Faces brightened around him at the news. He frowned. "Before anyone asks, she hasn't told me the details yet, but from what I've heard it's not a pretty picture."

Dana sat up in her seat, looking uncomfortable. "Tim, honey, what happened in ... in the Batcave?"

He pulled out a chair for Greta, and she slid into it with a quick, "Thank you." Sitting next to her, he pulled the mask off his face and gasped as the cool air hit his face. "Guess we should tell them first, Tim," she said finally, blinking bloodshot eyes. She frowned thinly. "Even if we don't want to talk about it," she finished softly.

He sighed, holding her hand under the table. _Alright. Let's get this over with._ "Yeah. Well, once we made it to the morgue..."

* * *

"So after we got back," Greta said, her voice soft but firm, "Tim went to change and Alfred, well, Alfred shooed me away. I went to look in on Mommy and stayed there until Tim found me and we came here."

Robin smiled. It had been much easier to explain things taking turns with Greta. Every time one of them started to lose their composure the other continued as if nothing happened. _And we didn't even have to plan it._ Greta squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "She's safe now. That's all that matters." Her expression fell. "When she wakes up, we'll have to tell her what ... what happened to Reddy and Kathy, but," she gulped, "we'll do it later."

"Yeah," Robin nodded. "Later." _When and how ... that's another question entirely._

Everyone in the room looked ill. Even Agent Maad was looking disturbed. Gar and Raven hadn't spoken a word; he looked even greener than usual, and Raven's eyes were shut tightly, her hands crossed over her belly. She appeared to meditating. But it was Bart who spoke. "How--howdidtheymakethebatsattackher?" His amber eyes were pulled almost painfully wide, and Robin could barely bring himself to meet them.

He reached for one of his belt compartments, and held up the remote from the cave floor. Something tickled the back of his mind--it seemed _off_ somehow. He held it up between two fingers for all to see. "This. It sends out a signal meant to draw the Cave bats to its current location. Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl and I carry them in our boots." He crossed one leg over the other, pulling another remote from his heel for a moment before snapping it back into place.

Mrs Kent frowned. "To attack people?" She sounded more than a little disgusted. Dana's eyes mirrored the emotion. That wouldn't do at all.

He shook his head quickly. "No. Just a distraction. Under most circumstances, swarming bats won't attack humans. Most only eat insects and fruit, and the ones that do eat animals don't view humans as a food source--we're too big." That didn't include the species that consumed blood. But Bruce had always been careful to make sure none of those lived in the Cave.

Greta chewed on her bottom lip and frowned. "What would make them do ... what they did?"

Robin scowled at the remote. "If they modified this somehow ... there are certain frequencies most bats would find extremely painful. It could have aggravated them into wanting to attack something."

"And she was the only living thing in the cavern," Cassie ran her fingers through her hair. "_Hera._ Wait. I've read articles about bats carrying disease. I'm sure Batman wouldn't keep them down there if they were dangerous but--"

Robin nodded. "I know they're going to give her some pretty powerful antibiotics as it is, just to ward off infection. But you're right. Batman wouldn't let the bats stay down there if they were dangerous." That didn't count the Clench fiasco, but that wasn't something Bruce had done on purpose.

"Tim, honey," Dana spoke next, "what's going to happen to her? Her home's been destroyed and her parents--what are you going to do?"

Robin found himself blinking away tears as Greta pulled his glove off under the table and cradled his hand in her lap, slowly running her thumb over his knuckles. He found in calming in a way he couldn't readily describe. "We'll take care of her. I promised Reddy we would, and we will."

Kon blinked. "What? When?"

Robin smiled faintly, remembering. "Just after Traya started spending a lot of time with us, Reddy pulled me aside. He wanted to make sure that if ... if anything happened to him while the two of them were with us that I'd personally make sure she was safe."

"_What?"_ Cissie spoke from one of the monitors. "_Why didn't he mention it to the rest of us?"_ He didn't miss the appraising, weary looks she shot Greta when she thought neither of them were looking.

_Wonderful. Can't say I didn't expect this._ Still, might as well answer the question. "He said he wanted at least one person to specifically be looking out for her, but didn't want to make everyone aware of just how much he worried about his injury or death. And he thought I was the most ... appropriate." He couldn't imagine how any of them could be jealous, but he still waited with some anxiety for her response. Anybody's response.

Kon nodded. "He was probably right. We were all headcases. Still are. But we all know you're the most thoughtful, well prepared nutjob in the room."

"Thank you, Kon," Robin said flatly. Light chuckles filled the room from the former members of Young Justice. Most of the adults just looked uncomfortable. Everyone was desperate to latch on to whatever opportunity they could to break the tension. "Maybe it was the best thing then, but--she's going to need all of us now."

Greta nodded. "Tim and I talked about it. We'll tell her what happened when she's ready, and we'll do whatever it takes to help. Leslie said she might um ... imprint herself on us, since we were the ones that found her. But I think ... the more of us there for her, the better."

Wonder Girl nodded swiftly. "We'll be here. For you guys too. Traya was already more attached to you than Cissie or me, anyway. And you, Tim. She has a crush on you, you know. Ever since you started coming to the school to see Greta. But you probably knew that already."

Tim blinked and Greta smiled slightly. He hadn't caught that yet. At all. _Some detective._ It was flattering, but he had never really thought she paid that much attention to him. She was always so quiet and never seemed to look right at him and--_Oh._ Wow, he was dense. Dick was going to laugh so hard when he heard about this. Assuming Robin lived to tell him.

His raised brows and saucer-eyes must've given him away. Cassie shook her head. "Or not. She _probably_ will want you two around a lot now, anyway. You're ... going to have your hands full. We're all here if you need us."

Greta smiled, wiping at her eyes. "Thanks."

"But where will she end up?" Martha asked after a quiet moment.

"We'll have to find somewhere safe, with people who will be able to accommodate her ... unique past. I have a few ideas." He didn't elaborate, and no one asked him to. _So Bruce, feel like going another round with Social Services?_ It was the best place for her. And the worst. He blinked slowly. But that was something it would be better to deal with when all this was over.

Everyone seemed to realize he desperately wanted to change the subject. "So what's next?" Ishido finally asked.

Oracle's synthesized voice wafted through the air. "_I've got some information concerning the infrastructure attack, but first I think we should all get on the same page. Let's start with Byron. I ran a background check. He's working as a part time as a security guard to pay for school. Studying to becoming a nurse. Grew up in a nasty part of town, but from every thing I found, he's totally clean."_

"He's dead," Cassie said flatly, eyes narrowed. "Has been for at least twelve hours, according to the police we talked to." His parents and the Kents gasped. Ishido narrowed his eyes. She sighed. "They practically begged us to stay and help get the city back in order. I thought they were going to cry when we said we had to leave."

Kon nodded, looking grim. "Someone snapped his neck. There wasn't any sign of struggle, and the body--they'd already moved it by the time we got there--he looked really surprised from what the police said. He was standing in the middle of the room when it happened."

"Let his attacker in, never saw it coming. He knew whoever it was. Or thought he did. Anybody see any visitors within the last twelve hours?" Robin steepled his fingers.

"The security cameras," Cassie began, "captured footage of his mother coming in around 10 PM. She never left, but wasn't there when the police showed up. When his neighbors noticed he hadn't left for work they got nervous knocked on his door. When he didn't answer, they called the cops."

"Yeah," Kon folded his arms over the S shield on his chest. "But Tim, they've already taken the mother into custody for questioning, and she's got a rock solid alibi. Poker tournament at the Mirage that lasted till one in the morning. Like, fifty witnesses at least. She says she didn't go to see him last night. Wasn't even planning to. By the time we got there she had already been released." His face fell. "She must be crushed; she screamed and fainted when the police told her he was dead."

"_That's not all,"_ Oracle cut in. "_According to my checks his mother is about five feet tall and weighs ninety-eight pounds. Byron cleared six-and-a-half feet easy, and had to be mostly muscle according to his last physical. There's no way she could've snapped his neck while he was standing up, unless she jumped a foot and a half in the air first or climbed a chair and he just stood there when she grabbed him."_

"Not likely," Robin scowled. "I'm definitely thinking shapeshifter at this point. Probably not the mastermind. I doubt he would get his hands dirty with Byron when he won't even face us directly yet. That explains how they got their hands on Traya. Reddy isn't--wasn't--equipped to scan on the molecular level. He wouldn't have been able to detect an impostor. And as for not leaving the apartment, they've already shown they've got access to Boom Tubes."

"_I checked,"_ Oracle said quickly, "_and Clayface is still in Arkham. He's not involved in this."_

Dana groaned. "How many more people are they going to kill?"

A burning sensation welled up in Robin's chest, but it was Greta who answered. "No more, if we can help it." She scowled. "Impersonating someone's mother to kill them. _Disgusting._" Her voice softened. "He must've been so confused at the end. And his mother ... how awful."

Robin gritted his teeth. She was right. "We have to do something about this." It was immediately clear no one had any idea which "this" he had in mind. "Agent Maad, do you have any news from APES?" Greta gave the agent an appraising look.

Ishido frowned and shifted in his seat. "Well, the good news is from what I can tell no one's making plans to shoot you all in the back when this is over. Yet. But other than that, I've got bad news and worse news. First, the bad: I did some digging, and as best I can tell no one's trying to hide anything from any of you."

Robin's father steepled his fingers. Robin noticed Dana and Greta look at them with subdued bemusement. "Wait. How's that _bad_ news?" Jack asked.

"They don't know anything more about what's going on then we do. We're still on our on," Robin frowned. "What's the _worse_ news?" But he already knew. He'd asked for casualty numbers. _Damn._

Ishido nodded. "I got the latest casualty numbers." He sighed. "Look, I know none of you are likely to want to take any advice from me, but you can't blame yourselves for this." Robin barely repressed a curse.

Gar frowned. "Aw, hell. How many?"

"Regardless," Robin said softly, "they're dead because of us."

Ishido sighed. "Nationally, twenty-one guards and technicians confirmed dead. Three dozen injured. Some critically."

His father's eyes narrowed. "_Jesus Christ._ All those people. Just for helping you." He seemed ready to say something else, but Dana laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't you blame yourself, young man," Jonathan Kent growled, speaking for the first time sense he muttered his outrage while Robin and Greta outlined how they found Traya. "Don't _any_ of you blame yourselves."

"You can't save everyone," Martha added. "So many people expect all of you to be infallible, and you don't know how much I hate what that makes all of you do to yourselves. The monster doing this would like nothing more than to make you hate yourselves so much you can't think straight. Don't give him that."

Robin felt something uncoil deep with him, and forced his own recreations out of his mind. No one was going to disagree with Superman's parents, and all around the room he saw guilt being shoved aside once more. "We won't. But we bear a responsibility to them."

"Yeah," Wonder Girl agreed. "We do." Nods all around.  
"For now," Robin said, "let's just focus on finishing this. Bringing these bastards to justice is the first, best thing we can do. Agent Maad, I want a list of the dead and injured. Oracle, you said you had some news about the attack on our systems."

"_Yeah. I just got telemetry from the Watchtower and some of our orbiting assets. None of it's good, but I think I have a pretty good idea what happened. Like I said before, if the damage weren't so catastrophic, I'd be impressed."_

"Well," Greta started chewing on her lip again, "what happened?"

Barbara's synthesized voice filled the air. "_Some of the details are still fuzzy, but I've managed to put together a pretty thorough picture, no small thanks to one of my contacts in the FBI's Organized Crime Unit."_ She paused. "_Agent Maad, if you attempt to find that contact, I swear I will make your life a living Hell. Is that understood?"_

Greta nodded slightly, glaring at the wall. Robin echoed her sentiment, but didn't let himself show it. He noticed the confused, curious look on Dana's face. His father just looked annoyed. If the Kents noticed any of this, they didn't show it.

He nodded, expression blank. "Perfectly."

Robin resisted the urge to shake his head. _So many complications._

Kon-El smirked. "Good to hear. Whenever anybody goes after the floating head Rob gets in a terrible mood. So, what did you find out from the FBI?"

Oracle continued as if nothing had happened. "_Around two PM, an email address attached to a Moglievich family retainer received a message with an encrypted file. She emailed a copy to one of my dummy accounts, and I was able to analyze it."_

Dana frowned. "Who's Moglievich?"

"One of the more powerful families in the US branch of the Red Mafya. Russians. Slick bastards, too. The FBI can't make anything stick to them." Ishido scowled. "Neither can APES."

"_Yeah,"_ Oracle didn't seem to mind being interrupted, but it was always a little difficult to tell with the synthesizer.

"I'm guessing they tried to decrypt the file and found something they weren't expecting," Robin frowned. He was starting to get an idea of what might have happened, and Babs was right. _Very sophisticated._

"_You got that right, Current Boy Wonder. We're not talking script kiddies here. Masqueraded as a spreadsheet--arms shipment records. Totally bogus."_

Robin frowned. "Irresistible to the Feds. They opened it."

"_The code itself is relatively simple in concept, but implementing it must've been a nightmare. Whoever wrote it had extensive knowledge of interagency communications. It leaves a piece of itself behind at every node it hits, specially suited to attack and disable that system. It was programmed to attack several key organizations: FBI, CIA, city services around the country, and so forth._ _I'm guessing similar programs to target the news networks that went down. This was _incredibly _well planned."_

Kon whistled. "Nerts." Cassie elbowed him.

Robin frowned. "Okay, yeah, but what about _our_ equipment?"

"_Ah,"_ even with the synthesizer activated, the anger in her tone was unmistakable. "_Everything so far is very impressive, like I said. Still, it's something any expert hacker with access to the right information could do. But this next part--I'll be honest. It freaks me out a little, Robin."_

"Oh," Jack frowned. "Wonderful."

"_Jack_," Dana hissed. "Not now."

Robin ignored him. He even managed not to narrow his eyes in annoyance. He didn't bother to look at anyone else's reaction.

There was a long pause. "_I've managed to recover my logs and ... no one breached any of my defenses. None."_ Even through the synthesizer, Robin could detect her anxiety. So could everyone else. The entire room was tense. "_At almost exactly the same time as the FBI received the worm, someone logged into my system using one of our remote shells."_ Another pause. "_They had_ my _master root password."_

Robin felt his jaw spasm and go slack. "T-the one you change every week?"

She growled, the synthesizer distorting it into something ferocious and inhuman. "_The one I changed at _ten last night_, Robin. And no, before you ask, this wasn't a cracking job. Just a single, successful login."_

_Of course it wasn't. What good would cracking do against an entire file system encrypted by a 1024-bit Triple DES key? _Robin scowled. _Shit._ In the back of his mind, a possible explanation was clicking into place, but there just wasn't enough evidence. "Ignoring the how for the moment, with your password, they would've had pretty much free reign."

"_That's not all,"_ Oracle threw back, frustration clear, "_from what they did, they would've had to had another founding Leaguer's authorization code, too. They have Batman's. And you know he's more of a security freak than I am. He's probably got a program set to change his password for him while he's gone."_

At the news that Bruce's security had been undermined as well, even the less technically minded people in the room shifted uneasily. "Aw, _nerts_," Kon groaned. "I always heard he could destroy the League with a push of a button if he wanted, but--"

"_Shit_," Ishido cut in softly. Kon looked at him, and he smiled thinly. "I didn't think the Kents would want _you_ saying it, kid. No one seems to mind when I mouth off."

Greta snorted, not looking at him. "So what did they do, once they were in? Obviously something bad, but I mean, how?"

Robin could hear Oracle grimace. "_One of our failsafes. Luckily not the full self-destruct sequence--which they could've initiated, if they'd had Superman's or J'onn's code--but, remember when I said it was nasty? Obviously, we lost primary communications and only just now got it back. But the Watchtower has been _completely _shut down. Telemetry reports the reactors are totally inoperative. They triggered one of the security programs just before that--not only is it a big powerless husk right now, but most of the system interface is blown to hell."_

Robin put his head in his hand, and groaned. He felt Greta rub his neck. "That--the Watchtower was never designed to be completely deactivated. It could take three months to get it back up and running completely--and that doesn't count repair time."

Cassie shook her head, scowling. "Well, at least no one was up there."

"Yeah. There's that. Oh, and we can forget about calling for help. I received final telemetry from our deep space communications array. It was de-orbited twenty minutes after all this started. It burned up in the atmosphere."

Robin sat up in his chair, bare eyes flashing with anger and frustration. "_Damn it._"

Dana scowled, "what's so horrible about some satellites burning up?"

"_The array is the only comm. system we had that could possibly contact the League and the others. Now we really _are _on our own."_

Greta blinked, tightening her grip on Robin's hand. "Rats." Dana blinked at her and giggled softly, covering her mouth.

His father blinked. "What? Tim, you said you and your friends could handle this."

"We can," he frowned. "But I'm not so egotistical I wouldn't have minded a little backup. _Damn._" _Okay, Robin. Breathe. Concentrate._ He forced his mind to clear. "Anything else?"

"Nothing else went kaboom, if that's what you mean." Fatigue crept into Oracle's voice.

"Well, alright," Robin willed himself to focus. Think. Analyze the problem. "So, we got slammed. We already knew that. Now we know how--there have to be clues there we can use."

"Agreed. Thing one: how the hell did they get those passwords? I didn't even come up with mine 'till just before I changed it."

"Could they have been spying on us?" Greta asked softly, blinking her large eyes nervously.

"I'm sure they were," Robin frowned, "but it still doesn't make sense. They would've had this planned for some time, and having to wait around for Oracle and Batman to change their passwords strikes me as tactically stupid. And our enemies are anything but." Everyone in the room seemed to have grown quiet. Eyes darted between him and the floating head on the display.

"_Yeah,"_ Oracle ground out, "_but that doesn't even make sense. My parameter defenses and internal sensors were online last night--I have the logs to prove it. I shutter the windows with foot-thick lead-steel alloy when I change the password. The Clocktower is a faraday cage; no signal from any bugs could get out. Anyone wanting it would have had to literally look over my shoulder, and I would've noticed that."  
_ "Maybe," Robin said slowly, "we're looking at this the wrong way. Everything that happened has to fit together somehow. Let's pull back. Hasn't anyone stopped to wonder how we were ambushed so thoroughly? How they knew _exactly_ where all of us were going to be. I mean, obviously someone was going to be at the Tower, and our homes aren't difficult to find if you know who we are, but ..."

"It's not like we filed itineraries," Cassie scowled, cracking her knuckles. "Mom just decided last night to go into the museum this morning. The only person I told was Kon."

"Yeah," Kon growled, "and we had to jump through hoops to figure out where Reddy was hiding. I mean, they could've gotten the same Ticketmaster charge information we did when you hacked the computers, and maybe they'd been watching Traya enough to figure out why she wouldn't want to be seen at some of those other places, but when you put it with everything else ... it starts to add up, you know?"

Robin nodded. "Agent Maad," Robin turned towards the man, "when did you guys decide to go on the picnic? More importantly, who knew you were going?"

"We decided yesterday afternoon, late," the agent frowned. "I don't file my personal travel plans with APES, but they could probably track my communicator if they wanted to find me."

"Wait a second, son," Jonathan Kent cut in. Robin noticed his father bristle a little, but he shrugged it off. Mr Kent called a lot of people that. "We were all supposed to be somewhere else today."

Martha nodded. "There was a carnival for the local elementary school children scheduled for this afternoon. We were all penciled in to help, have been for months. Jonathan and I were going to run the refreshment stand. Connor even volunteered to oversee one of the games."  
Cassie looked at Kon, smiling softly. He blushed.

Jonathan frowned. "But it was cancelled around seven this morning. Sewage line under the church field busted. It's a total mess over there."

Robin's scowl was painful. "So this incredibly well coordinated assault was in flux as late as seven this morning, and it still came off without a hitch?"

"Don't forget Mr Carr," Greta chewed on her lip. "No one ever knows where he'll turn up. Not even him." She smiled thinly. "He's a bit disorganized."

"I don't buy it," Robin frowned. "Even if we were being spied on up to the last moment, there's no way everything could have fallen into place so perfectly. Besides that, we're all very aware people--some superpowerfully so. There's no way _none_ of us would've noticed we were being watched."

"_Yeah,"_ Bart joined in, looking grim. Several people at the table jumped. The speedster was hardly ever so quiet, and a few had probably forgotten he was listening. "_It's almost like they knew where we would be before we did. Same thing with the security codes. AndtheysuretimedthatFBIthingprettywell."_

"_Excellent points,"_ Oracle cut in, "_but how? Without any evidence, it's a pretty thin hypothesis: not much to go on."_ Several groans of agreement.

_Too thin. Wait a minute._ His mind was drawn back to the remote he'd found on the cave. When he picked it up, he'd been too furious and shocked to really think about it. "Maybe not." He retrieved the object and looked closer.

Greta blinked at him. "Tim?"

"When I picked it up there was something about it that," he crossed his leg over his knee, pulling his remote from its boot again, "caught my attention." He held them both up in front of his face, comparing them. The one from the cave floor was almost identical to his. _Almost._ It was maybe half a millimeter thinner. _Could be a fabrication aberration, but, it looks old, too. Lots of scratches and a couple dents. Definitely been around the block._ "Kon, I need your magic touch." The Teen of Tommorrow quickly floated towards him, a confused look in his eyes.

"You know," he said, "if Ma and Pa weren't around, and everything wasn't so messed up, there are a thousand different bad jokes I could make right now. I'm guessing you want this taken apart?" Robin nodded, smirking, as Greta and Cassie smiled softly, and Gar chuckled.

"Hey," Greta said softly, "don't leave me out of your calculations. I'm kind of bad about sharing some of my things." She smirked, and Kon blinked, eyes wide. Robin grinned at him amicably.

"_Robin? What are you thinking?"_ Oracle asked. "_What's different about the remotes?"_

"Could be nothing, but I hope not," he frowned. "We could use a lead." _Even if it's this messed up._ "Stand by." He nodded at his friend.

"Right." Superboy held it between his fingers and narrowed his eyes. A flash of blue light slid over its surface and it seemed to crumble along the seams in the casing. Dana gasped, and he smiled at her. "I have a few abilities Superman doesn't." He passed the remains back to Robin. Reluctantly, Greta released his ungloved hand, and he started tossing the casing on the table, giving it only a cursory glance. After a moment he had a clear view of the circuitry. He stared at it for a full second before almost dropping it in shock. A cold chill ran down his spine. _Shit. Shitshitshit._

"Tim?" Greta frowned at him, squeezing the hand she had de-gloved. "What's wrong?"

"We could have a major problem. Well, another one." He carefully put down the circuitry on the table, and pressed a few buttons. It immediately appeared on one of the monitors. "I'm sending you a video feed, Oracle. This is an ER model four prototype."

There was a long pause on her end. "_I see it, Robin, and it sure looks like it, but--that's not possible."_

"Oh, I think it is. You _know_ it is. We both had a hand in designing it. _Damn._" Yeah, they had a _serious_ problem. "This really complicates things."

"_That is a _spectacular _understatement. This explains a lot, though. Great. Just wonderful."_

"What?" Greta scowled at the little device. "What is it?"

Robin frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a stress headache coming on. "Extended Range model, prototype four. It's got four times the output power and range of the existing models and uses only half the power."

His father raised his eyebrows. "What's so ominous about that?"

Robin sighed. _This is gonna suck._ But his inner detective was happy. At least parts of this nightmare were starting to make _sense_. "It only exists on paper. The technology needed to build it won't be available for another three years. And I'm not talking backorder. See this power cell? There shouldn't be a single one anywhere on Earth. The first prototype is due in eighteen months. Either this is some sort of incredibly well disguised alien technology--"

"Or it's from the future." Greta's eyes widened, and her grip on his and was momentarily painful. "Oh, _fudgecicle._"


	15. Days of Future Past II

AN: See previous chapters for full notes. As usual, I own nothing. All constructive feedback welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

Robin took a deep breath as he watched the surprised faces of his friends, and willed himself to be calm. Thinking a stream of profanity was definitely better than speaking it, but it was still a sign of lack of control. He reaffixed his mask, and slipped his hand back into his glove. Tim Drake had to step back for now. He turned to Greta with a small smile. "You've got that right, angel." _Fudgecicle, indeed._

"Hera," Cass hissed. "No wonder it's all happening now. They knew almost everyone would be off-planet. And we still have no idea _who's_ doing this."

Ishido just shook his head. "Damn, I miss Donny," he whispered, rubbing his temples. Dana looked strangely at him, but said nothing.

"Not for long, Cassandra," Raven's face was serene as ever. "The DNA analysis Timothy ordered should be completed soon, and once she's recovered enough surely Traya will be able to describe her attacker."

"Wait just a damn minute," his father growled. "Time travel? Are you _hearing_ yourself, Tim?" His stepmother winced, shaking her head slightly.

Kon smiled, none too warmly. "Not as far-fetched as you think, _sir_," he said slowly.

_"Yeah,"_ Bart added, looking grim. The expression was just plain _unnatural_ on his face. _"I'm from the thirtieth century, Mr Drake. Well, an alternate thirtieth century. The timeline got rewritten."_ Tim smiled slightly. At least Bart was trying his best to sound polite. Dana and his father gaped at the monitor. _"It's not just possible, it's easy."_ He stared at something to his right, and below the camera range. Robin guessed he was looking at Traya. _"Too easy, sometimes."_

Dana frowned, obviously concerned. "But why did you come here, sweetie?"

Bart frowned sadly. "That's a long story, but I ... couldn't stay there anymore." He returned his attention to where Robin guessed Traya was.

_"He's right,"_ Oracle said suddenly. In his shock he'd almost forgotten her virtual presence. _"There's still a very slight chance that remote could be some sort of hoax, but we have to consider the weight of all the evidence. And for now, it points to a time traveler."_

Robin nodded. "Whoever's doing this mentioned having a very good informant. Who better than someone who already knows what's going to happen?"

"What about the remote?" Greta asked, brows knitting. "I don't think Batman would ever start using bats as weapons." She looked at Robin for a moment. "Or anyone who works with him."

Robin nodded. "No, we wouldn't." He narrowed his masked eyes. "Ever. Computer, I need a data dump of the software on this device. Sandbox everything."

_"Type of hardware interface?"_

"Secure Serial Interface, M type," Robin said. _I sure hope Bruce gave Clark the specs on--_

_"Unknown interface. Please provide specification."_

Robin groaned. "Figures."

"Uh," Kon blinked. "I hate to interrupt the conversation, but where are we gonna get that?"

"The Cave computers," Robin's lips twitched up at the corners. "Alright, computer, access remote link. CAD data cluster, low-level hardware database. Scan record SSIM-1 for specifications."

_"Data path encrypted,"_ the computer responded, _"authorization required."_

Dana shook her head, smiling tightly. "This really _is_ like Star Trek." His father just looked at her, inscrutable expression on his face.

Gar grinned at her. "Too bad we can't use the teleporters. I can even make that transporter sound."

Raven smirked. "Good to know all those acting lessons have paid off." Gar winked at her, looking pleased.

Robin smiled slightly. Watching Gar and Raven not-flirt was _way_ more fun than watching Kory and Dick--that was just frustrating and annoying and left him considering kidnapping Dr Phil. "Voice authorization Robin, Alpha One. Confirm."

_"Confirmed. Accessing. Stand by."_

"So," his father scowled, "how long is this going to--"

_"Specifications accessed and scanned. Interface protocol ready."_

Jack blinked. "Okay, then."

Robin smiled thinly. "Once the data is downloaded, I want to see it on my monitor."

Part of the table in front of Robin rose up, liquid metal reforming itself into a small platform. _"Please place the device on the receptacle."_ Robin shrugged, carefully setting the remote down. _"Accessing now."_

"This shouldn't take long," Robin said flatly, "the embedded control software is incredibly simple. Just a very specialized DSP." Everyone save Agent Maad just blinked at him, blank looks on their faces, and he felt his cheeks flush a bit. "Digital Signal Processor. They use them in those big plastic helmets you can buy that make you sound like Darth Vader." A chorus of affirmative noises rose up around him. "If I'm right it should be really simple to figure out how they modified it."

The computer beeped. _"Access complete. Displaying data dump."_ Robin's monitor came to life, filling with streams of hexadecimal number sequences.

"Alright," he said, starting to type, "The remotes are programmed with a very specific frequency that will attract bats. Attract them, but not hurt them. It should be," he kept scrolling, "somewhere right around--" he stopped moving through the listing, anger returning in a white hot flash. He took a deep breath. _Calm down. It's over now._ "They changed the frequency. It's on the very upper edge of a bat's hearing. Imagine the shrillest, most painful alarm you've ever heard, double it, and pretend it never stops."

"My heavens," Martha Kent gasped, looking pale. "No wonder the poor things went into a frenzy."

"Yeah," Robin whispered.

Greta just scowled. "It doesn't surprise me," she hissed, "not after everything else they've done." She shook her head. "I want to feel bad for the bats, but I keep thinking about what they did. I have to keep reminding myself they couldn't help it."

"You're not the only one, Greta," Cassie said, lips curled into what Robin could only call a sympathetic grimace. Kon nodded.

_"I gotta say,"_ Oracle joined in, _"I don't like the idea of someone so easily being able to manipulate our technology. Sounds like we may have had some ... security problems ... in the future."_

Robin nodded. _That's putting it mildly. I wonder if we're even still alive in the time whoever did this comes from._

_"Robin,"_ Oracle cut in, _"as long as we're trying to solve our dangling mysteries, I think I just figured out how the bastards hid Traya from the Cave sensors."_ She didn't sound happy with her discovery, at all.

Gar smiled, though it looked forced. "Don't you just love it when everything starts falling into place?"

"Hardly," Raven muttered. "This is too easy. The true mysteries, like where our enemies are hiding themselves, will be much more difficult."

"Yeah," Greta said. "But we'll find them." She narrowed her eyes. "Eventually." She turned her face towards the monitor sporting Oracle's floating head. "So how did they do it?"

_"Very cleverly,"_ Oracle responded, with the same tight anger. _"Since Robin told me what happened, I've been running checksum verifications on all the security programs, to test for tampering. Everything came up clean, so I started checking the identity profiles--biometric data the computer uses to identify lifeforms that _do_ have access."_

"A whitelist," Agent Maad nodded to himself. "If you've got a profile on record, you won't set off the alarms."

"Exactly," Robin said. "And it's not just for people. There's one that recognizes the cave bats and keeps them from setting off the alarm every time they move." He narrowed his eyes. _They've already used the bats once._ "That's it, isn't it, Oracle?"

_"Bingo, Robin,"_ Barbara's synthesized voice shook. _"It's the only one that failed verification. Looks like someone rewrote it to think Traya was a giant bat."_

"I don't get it," Cassie frowned. "You said the Batcave was only powered down for like, half a minute. How would they have had time to do all that?"

_"What about time dilation?"_ Bart said, and everyone turned to look at him.

_"That would fit with what we know,"_ Oracle responded. _"It would also indicate very advanced time traveling capabilities. Slowing down time is theoretically far more difficult than traveling from one point to another."_

"_Jesus_," his father murmured. "Who the _hell_ sits around and thinks up shit like this? What kind of sick bastard--" he shook himself, rubbing at his temples. "Ugh."

Dana scowled. "I don't understand this. These people must be very smart, and they knew exactly where all of you were, and where you were going. I hate to ask this, but if they wanted you all dead why w-wouldn't they just ... just ... "

_"Kill us?"_ Oracle asked.

Dana nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Yes. Why drag it out like this?"

"Because most truly evil people are psychotic ego-maniacs," Robin said in his gentlest voice. "And egomaniacs share certain characteristics. Make no mistake whoever's doing this wants us dead, but he knows he only gets to kill us once and that's it--he won't be stupid enough to time travel to relive the moment, because he's got plans for what he's going to do when this is over and knows better than to risk it all for emotional gratification. He us to die knowing we're beaten so he gets to live with the knowledge that he gave us the opportunity to fight back and we failed."

"You don't sound too upset by that," his father ground out. Robin had long ago given up trying to read the nuances of his expressions. He just gave himself headaches.

_The shock wears off after the first few dozen times._ The Urban Legend nodded. "I'm not. It's the reason we weren't all killed in our sleep in a time dilation bubble, and it's a weakness to be exploited. I'm just not sure _how_ yet. It'll be a lot clearer once that blood test comes back." _Much too clear, I'm afraid._

"We know there's more than one of them," Greta popped her knuckles. She blinked her sapphire eyes. "What about turning them against each other?"

_Excellent idea, beautiful._ "If it didn't cause a bloodbath," Robin said, grimacing, "it could be a very good plan. We'll have to see if it's an option." She nodded, looking just as grim as he felt.

A short silence, then Jonathan Kent cleared his throat. "Wait just a second, there. If it's really that easy to travel through time, shouldn't there be some sort of protection against something like this?"

Bart nodded. _"The Linear Authority. They exist outside time, and protect the integrity of this timeline. They're usually very quick about correcting time paradoxes like this."_ He scowled. _"They'renotveryfondofme.__ Or any other speedster that can travel time. They see us as living potential disruptions in the time stream."_

Dana blinked. "They haven't tried to ... _erase_ ... you or anything, have they?"

Bart's face fell. _"No. _They_ haven't."_ He blinked, clearing the scowl from his face with obvious effort. _"But they _should_ be in on something like this. They give Wally grief if he knocks a pebble out of place when he's in the past."_

Robin nodded. _Indeed._ "You have more experience with them than any of us, Bart. Ideas on why they aren't interfering?"

Bart shrugged. _"They're the most technologically advanced time travelers _anywhere _or_ anywhen. _But Max told me they have trouble dealing with magic sometimes. So maybe they can't go after these guys, or,"_ his amber eyes narrowed, _"maybe they won't."_

"That's not a pleasant thought," Robin said. "They wouldn't allow the timeline to be rewritten--and it _has_ and _is_ being rewritten--without a very good reason. They're almost religious about protecting it."

_"I don't think I like either of those options very much,"_ Oracle mused. _"But for now they're both speculation. We need more information."_

"Agreed," Robin frowned. _As many new questions as answered ones._ "I guess that leaves the blood test results."

Kon gritted his teeth. "Why do I get the feeling we're not exactly going to be thrilled to know who's doing this?"

"Because whoever it is," Greta answered, "we know them. We've fought them. And that fight was horrible enough to make them do all this. They've had time to stew on their hate and fester in it. It's only going to be worse this time." She rubbed at her eyes. "It already is."

From the faraway, pained look in her eyes, Robin couldn't help but wonder if she already had an idea of who was behind it all. _That'd make two of us. But for the moment, denial and not jumping to conclusions are the same thing._ No more running and hiding. No more purely defensive plays. Once they knew for sure who was doing this, it would be time to start the final round. _And somehow, I don't think they'll go down without a truly _spectacular_ fight._ He found Greta's hand and just held it, not squeezing. It was small and just barely warm through his glove. She smiled at him, and he felt his shoulders straighten.

"So," Cassie spoke suddenly, determination masking whatever else might have been in her voice, "it comes down to the blood sample. Where are we with that?"

Robin narrowed his eyes. "Let's find out. Computer, what's the status of the blood identification scan I ordered?"

The Fortress responded in its usual soft male monotone, its voice perhaps a bit quieter than usual. Robin wondered if that was a symptom of the resource drain the computer had alluded to earlier. _"Search still in progress. Unexpectedly degraded communications capacity of databases being searched is causing a considerable delay."_

_ Troublesome._ "There's not really much we can do about it. Estimate time to complete." He looked at the others. "Just so we know the worst case scenario."

_"Processing ... estimated time at most three hours and--stand by."_ Robin raised an eyebrow, dour anticipation blooming in his mind. _"Match found. Displaying now..."_

Ishido whistled. "Wow. Talk about good timing." But he didn't sound happy. Rather, he radiated tension with the intensity of a small star. Just like everyone else in the room.

"Well," Robin said, as the largest display on the wall started coming to life, "this is it." Next to him, he heard Greta gulp, and he knew if he could tear his eyes from the screen, he would find her chewing her lower lip. A young man's picture flashed up on the screen, and he would later swear at that moment his heart skipped a beat. His friends and Ishido sent up gasps and swears, his parents and the Kents confused murmurs. But his mind focused almost completely on the computer's voice as he met soulless, red eyes set into Joker-pale skin.

_"Blood sample match. Identity confirmed with ninety-eight percent confidence: William Hayes."_

* * *

Dana clung tightly to Jack's arm, and tried to figure out just what the hell was going on, and why everyone looked more frightened than they'd been even when surrounded by killer drones. There were two pictures on the monitor, both of the same young man. In the one with makeup--she hoped it was makeup--he bore a striking resemblance to the Joker, and she felt chills run down her spine just looking at him, but given everything else that had happened, and how well they all kept their cool, she just didn't get what she was seeing.

Their fear was contagious, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Connor and Cassie fell to the ground, knees buckling as they steadied themselves. Their eyes burned fear and anger and disgust. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cissie peering out from a monitor, sleeping toddlers behind her, the look on her face even more intense, maybe even bordering on hate. From his screen, Bart stared with impossibly wide eyes, mouth moving so fast it was nothing more than a blur. She abruptly realized the low buzz that now filled the air had to be him. She caught Jack's eyes and saw her confusion mirrored there. As one they started to turn towards Tim. _What in the--_

"Holy fucking _shit_," Agent Maad rumbled, the first to find his voice. "I can't believe ... no, wait, yes I can. _Shit._"

From his monitor, Bart let off a stream of words too fast for her to understand, but from the horrified look on his face she could guess their meaning well enough. She knew just enough French to blush at the epithets Anita sent in from somewhere off camera.

"Dana," Jack whispered as they both stared at the pallid agent, so quiet she could barely hear, "what the hell just happened?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, baby." _But it can't be good._

* * *

Robin stared at the screen, doing his best to muster up the shock everyone else seemed to feel and coming up short. Genuine surprise would have been nice, but he wasn't getting that either. With Harm's glowing, hate-filled eyes staring back at him, every second an eternity, the best he could manage was a dull sort of acceptance and more than a little resignation. Even the anger that had been fueling him more than he really wanted to admit had deserted him. _So it's settled, then._ The clues had all been there, and only his training and a desire not to panic everyone in case he was wrong had kept him silent. _A detective never jumps to conclusions without definitive proof_, Bruce had once said._ It costs time, resources, and maybe even lives._ And there was even a very slim chance he was wrong. Around him, he heard the Kents and his parents whispering in low tones, confusion obvious in their voices. He even managed to make out his father asking Dana what was going on, and her perplexed answer.

_William Hayes. Harm._ Just thinking the name sparked something in him, and he felt an almost painful heat flush through his body. Young Justice's deadliest enemy that wasn't a New God, sworn to kill every single one of them. It had taken Secret, determined to destroy him at the cost of her life and ending up imprisoned and tortured by APES for months for her trouble, everything she had just to drive him away. _But he's been out there, all this time. Waiting for his moment. And we just let it pass because he'd fallen off the radar and there was always something more pressing. Never mind that he's invulnerable and undead--that should have been enough to spark a planet-wide manhunt. Reddy and Kathy are dead, Traya's life as she knows it is over, and the bodies are piling up._ A seething self-loathing settled in his stomach and spread out from there, until every muscle in his body was taut to the point of cramping. His heart thudded almost painfully against his ribs and hot blood rushed in his ears as the breath caught in his throat, and he was only dimly aware that he was not the only person in the room. _No, _I_ just let it pass, and now it's come to this._

After a long few seconds, his left hand exploded with a sharp, grinding pain, and the haze of fury collapsed around him as an alarm tripped in his brain. _Pain in left hand. Thudding heart. Shortness of breath._

Robin's eyes widened. _Heart attack?_ The realization was enough to jolt him out of his fugue of self-hatred, and he took a deep, slow breath, forcing himself to run through one of the mental calming exercises Shiva had taught him under the threat that she would begin breaking his bones to reinforce her lessons should he continue to allow himself to become angry when sparring with her.

Unsurprisingly, he had managed to become proficient in just a little over forty-eight hours. It was really amazing what one could do with the proper motivation. _Not going to let just looking at a picture of you kill me._

The sound of blood in his ears faded, and with the calm came reason. _Wait a second. Heart attack pains are supposed to radiate, and my chest doesn't really hurt. Anxiety attack, maybe. Nothing worse. Then why does my hand feel like something's crushing--Damn!_

His brain _finally_ back on full alert after what his internal clock told him could not have been more than thirty seconds, he turned to look at the one person he _never_ should have forgotten was in the room, no matter how much his mind went off the tracks.

Greta stared at the screen with wide, unblinking eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth with enough force to turn the skin alabaster pale. Any harder and she'd be drawing blood. The hand that held his so painfully was clenched so tightly it had begun to spasm. Abruptly, the pain and building numbness in his own appendage was forgotten.

"Greta?" he said gently, everyone but her turning to look at him. She blinked, at least, but her eyes remained firmly glued to the viewscreen. _I know, angel. I can hardly stomach it, either._ "Hey, Greta, you okay?" When she still didn't answer, he fought off building panic and tried to wiggle the fingers caught in her grip. _Come on, Greta. Don't let him do this to you._

That got some results, though definitely not what he'd intended. With a sharp gasp she turned to look at him and released his hand, scooting back in her chair and clenching her fists in one smooth motion. Her cheeks flushed as her eyes darted around the room, and he wished everyone would stop gaping at her and _say something_. For his part, he discreetly cradled his throbbing hand under his cape, and tried to figure out what to do next.

"Oh my _God_," she finally whispered, not meeting anyone's eyes. "It--I--_Billy_--Oh, God, I knew it..."

Anything Robin had been about to say died on his lips as the assembled adults (everyone but Ishido, who actually knew what was going on and was being disturbingly unflappable about the whole thing) started murmuring in confusion. His friends just stared at the screen, though he noticed, much to his chagrin, Cissie glancing at Greta with a tight frown. _Damn. I guess that's really going to be a problem after all._ Even Bart was silent, though his eyes were narrowed in something suspiciously like fury. The confusion and nervousness on Gar's face betrayed his feelings, but he didn't make a sound. Neither did Raven, though she observed the room with obvious trepidation. She could feel with certainty what he could only guess at, and didn't like the feedback she was getting. Just as abruptly as she had come back to herself moments earlier, Greta suddenly pushed back from the table and got to her feet. Robin blinked. "Greta?"

She looked at him with rapidly moistening eyes. "Tim, I need some air. Just, I can't... it's him!" Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "_Augh!_" And then she was spinning on her heels, and before he even had a chance to blink, she'd raced out of the room, the crystalline door resealing behind her. For a long moment, no one made a sound.

"Okay," Gar finally managed, his voice devoid of its usual humor, "I think I speak for all of us who weren't in Young Justice when I ask: what the hell just happened? You all look like your brains are about to shoot out your ears, and--I'm totally not kidding--for a second there I thought you and Greta were about to have synchronized cardiac arrests. Not fun to watch."

"Garfield's right," Raven said, serene once more. "I've never seen you so agitated, Timothy. Who is he? And if he's truly so fearsome, why have we never heard of him before?" Ishido chuckled darkly and shook his head.

"You act like he's the devil," his father whispered. Dana's eyes were glued to the door Greta had disappeared through. Robin figured his father didn't mean to be heard.

The Urban Legend turned to Raven first. "He wasn't just _our_ dirty laundry to air," he growled, rising to his feet. Part of him thought it better to let Greta work through her emotions on her own, but another part of him knew that might not be the best idea, especially when it came to Harm. _Can't just let her stew herself over this. It's what _he_ would want._ He shook his head in frustration. "Cassie."

The honorary Amazon straightened, looking grim. Shock had given way to anger that smoldered in her voice and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Yeah?"

"Get everyone in here or on a monitor. As soon as Greta and I get back, we're laying this all out."

"Got it," she nodded tersely. "I can't believe I didn't even think it could be him. I ... I just didn't want to go there, I guess. _Hera._"

Kon scowled, and for the briefest moment his irises glowed red. "Fun."

"Oracle?" Robin ground out, moving for the exit.

_"Go ahead, Tim."_ Barbara, at least, sounded composed.

"Get ready to unlock his file."

_"Already working on that. It'll be ready as soon as you two cool yourselves off."_ There was a brief pause. _"Thinking about rephrasing that. Guess you're not the only one spending too much time with Nightwing. Get yourselves sorted out. You know Harm would _want_ you both reeling for as long as possible. You're better than he thinks you are. All of you. Oracle out." _The screen displaying the floating head went suddenly blank.

"Right," Robin rolled his shoulders, and turned to face the room. "I'll--we'll--be back in a few minutes. Everybody ... just try to calm down."

* * *

Dana stared at the crystal door her son and his girlfriend disappeared through, both more distraught than she had ever seen them, even when announcing the deaths of their friends. _What's going on? I just don't understand._ She turned towards Superboy and Wonder Girl--Connor and Cassie--in hopes of finding out exactly what had made her son's unshakable composure nearly shatter. _Okay, so it's not _completely_ unshakable, but I've never seen anyone or anything set him off like this. Not even Jack._ But Jonathan Kent beat her to the punch, turning towards the boy she had taken to thinking of as his grandson.

"Son," the farmer began, remarkably calm, "who is this guy? You mentioned him once, but you never said anything about what he did."

"Yes," Martha continued, "sweetheart, why does he frighten you all so? And what did Greta mean?"

"She wasn't the only one," the Teen of Tomorrow said softly, "and I'd rather not try to guess at what's going through her head right now. Damn," he glared at the viewscreen. "It had to be _him_."

_She looked like her entire world was shattering._ She kept expecting Tim to calm her down or back her up, but he was barely holding himself together. She had never imagined watching both of them come apart at once could be so unsettling.

"Wait a second," Jack said suddenly, eyes narrowed and jaw stiff. "Why do we have to wait for them to get back? Most of you obviously know who this asshole is, so why aren't you talking?"

"Three reasons," Cissie said through clenched teeth. Dana jumped when she looked at her. Even on the viewscreen, the pure hatred in her eyes as she gazed at the mug shots was palpable. "You've probably noticed, sir, that he's a sore subject. For all of us." She seemed not to notice as one of her hands came up and rubbed the opposite shoulder. _"I think I speak for all of us when I say I know I'd rather not have to give a presentation on him without some backup. And knowing Tim, he'll have a slideshow ready in a few minutes--and at this point, I think waiting so we can all gather our wits is for the best. And as for Greta,"_ Dana's unease grew as Cissie's expression darkened further, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed Bart shaking his head,_ "she's got her reasons for reacting like she did, and hopefully she'll share them with you."_

_"I think she deserves a little time to get herself straightened out,"_ Bart cut in, and Dana once again found herself unpleasantly surprised. He looked unhappier than he had before Cissie had started speaking, and he looked to be concentrating very hard. Dana guessed he was trying his best to speak slowly, and found herself wondering just how difficult it was to think at super-speed when the world around you moved so slowly. _"If she thinks we need to know what she's feeling, she'll tell us."_ He looked to his side. _"The transfusion's almost done, and Traya's starting to come out of it. It'll still be a while before she's really awake, but she doesn't need to hear any of this. Calluswheneverybody'scaughtup.Out."_ His screen went black, and Cissie scowled.

Jack shook his head. "The way you guys talk, this guy might as well be the Anti-Christ."

"For all intents and purposes," Ishido muttered, "he _is_."

Gar whistled, but Raven just frowned. "Wonderful," she said flatly.

Dana shuddered. She hadn't known the government agent very long, but she knew he wasn't kidding, even a little bit. She heard Jack gulp, and put her head in her hands. _God, just let them all be alive when this is over.  
_

* * *

Robin had gone straight for Mrs Hayes' room, and been only slightly surprised when Greta wasn't there. _Guess it would've been too much right now. At least the walk gave me time to clear my head._ Immortal and invulnerable or not, no one was unbeatable. The Titans would find a way because they _had_ to find a way. It was as simple as that. _Besides, the Spectre pretty much gave Greta exactly what she needed._ He pushed the spark of anger away. It wouldn't do any good to grouse about how Jordan had manipulated them. And it was _Harm_ they were dealing with. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, Greta was their best hope for winning. _If she's up to it. This fight is going to be more than just tossing fists. A _lot_ more._

The Fortress computer had no trouble locating her, so now he found himself stepping into the landing bay. She was right where he expected to find her: on the Supercycle's couch with her knees tucked under her chin, her back to the door, staring at the icescape. The bike, if he wasn't mistaken, was purring softly at her. She didn't even twitch as he entered. _Wow_, he frowned, _she's totally gone._ He put just enough extra weight behind his footfalls to make his boots squeak on the crystal floor--it wouldn't do to make her jump out of her skin. As she started to turn her head, he spoke. "Hey." She unfolded herself as she turned around, his gaze drawn to her puffy, red eyes and slightly bruised lower lip. His heart contracted painfully, but he was glad she hadn't drawn blood.

She smiled faintly at him. "Hey," she whispered.

He was almost upon the Cycle, and couldn't help but notice the blasters were completely cleaned out. _Guess you've been busy, boy._ "Want some company?"

Her smiled widened a fraction. "You have to ask?"

His own smile spread as he grabbed the chassis and vaulted onto the Cycle's rear deck. Soon, he was settling in next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist as she grabbed his hand and laid her head against his shoulder. He turned to look at her and inhaled the scent of fresh strawberries, finally starting to feel himself relax. For a long while, neither of them spoke.

"So," she finally breathed, "I guess everyone thinks I've lost it."

"Nah," he responded, without missing a beat, "I didn't react so well either. Everyone that was in Young Justice understood. Even Bart was seething. As for the others ... once we tell them what he's done, they'll get it. It's not like we have to be completely impartial all the time, and ... you've got more reason to want to scream than the rest of us put together."

She chuckled darkly. "That's one way of putting it. We went so long without hearing anything from him. Was it too much to hope that he wasn't going to come back? I mean, he escaped from _Hell_, Tim. Why didn't anyone try to hunt him down before this?"

He sighed. That _was_ the question. "From what I've seen, they can be a bit too ... hands off ... up there." _They prefer to have people whose lives they almost ruin in the process do their work for them._ "And no. I was hoping he wouldn't come back, too. It was easier to forget about him after he dropped off the map."

Another dark chuckle. A chill went down his spine; he hated seeing her like this. "Tell me about it." She scooted away so she could look at him without craning her neck. "I've got to tell you something."

"I've got some stuff I should probably tell you too," he said, managing a smile. _A few somethings, actually._ "Go ahead. They won't start without us."

She grinned, then. A real grin. He felt his own lips twitch up. "They can't, can they?" she said thoughtfully. Her smile fell just slightly. "I knew. I knew from the moment Hal told me what he wanted. I couldn't think of anyone else that you couldn't have handled without me. Only Billy. And if that wasn't enough, when I first met Hal he told me the _only_ reason I'd been made a warder in the first place was to balance my brother. I didn't say anything 'cause there wasn't any proof, and I didn't want to risk panicking everyone if I was wrong."

"That was definitely the right decision." Robin's frown was again painful. He'd never known that. _At least he's honest about using people._ "Sometimes, Spectre's a hard man to like, isn't he?"

She nodded. "He means well, and I'll always be thankful for what he did for me today, but ... yeah. I just kept hoping I was wrong. I'd been out of the loop so long, maybe I was overlooking something. And then there he was on that screen and--it's a different thing to think it and to know it, you know? And all I can't stop thinking about all the people he's killed because I couldn't stop him before..." She scrubbed at her eyes, hair bouncing fiercely.

"You're not the only one, angel," Robin said quickly, every loss and stalemate he'd suffered facing off against Harm flashing through his mind. "But we've got to try to put it aside. He would want us to tear ourselves apart with guilt before we fight him."

She turned to him with determined eyes. "Yeah, I know. And I'm _done_ doing what he wants. Do you think the others would be mad if they knew I suspected him this whole time and didn't say anything?"

Robin shrugged. "Dunno. But if they are, they can be mad at us both." _Please don't slap me._

Her eyes widened. "You mean--you mean _you_ thought it was him too?" He nodded, smiling slightly. She hadn't slapped him yet. Then she chuckled mirthlessly again, and shook her head. "Why didn't you _say_ anything, Tim?"

"Like you said," he whispered, "it was just a very strong suspicion. I had no hard proof. Spectre being so insistent on _you_ specifically becoming a warder again really pointed at him, like you said, but even that was just circumstantial evidence."

"And detectives don't jump to conclusions, do they?" she mused, looking thoughtful.

He smirked faintly. "It's generally a bad idea. Besides, there was a slim chance it was an unknown player."

She raised an eyebrow. "What? How? We've known from the beginning this was someone who fought Young Justice before."

"Yeah, but it's not quite as simple as that. Remember when Anita's dad died? We all but tore Zandia to the ground looking for his killer. That island was a supervillian haven, and more than a few we don't know by name were probably pretty ticked off when they lost their homes and most of their resources."

She nodded, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. I remember. I don't think I could ever forget all of that." She shook her head as if she were trying to clear it. "So you thought it could be one of them."

"Maybe. We never got a full listing of those residing there. If it _was_, I would've done more harm than good bringing up the idea that it might be William. But now we know."

"Yeah," she leaned into his shoulder again. "Now we know." She sighed. "We've got to tell them. The ones that don't know him, they have no idea what we're up against."

He nodded, staring at the ice. "I know. I'll do most of the talking, if you want. I don't think we have to tell them ... everything."

He was more than a little surprised when she set up and looked at him with moist, sure eyes. "No, Tim. We've got to tell them _all_ of it. And not just about him. I was thinking about it before you got here. If Harm knows everything that's happened to us, he'll know about Doug--" her face screwed into a grimace, and her cheeks flushed. "_Darkseid_. He could try to use that against us, and who knows how he'd twist it. The truth is bad enough. No," she shook her head again, and grabbed both his hands. "They need to know the truth, and if they have to hear it, I want them to hear it from me."

He felt himself tearing up. One more thing he couldn't manage to protect her from. _Worst of all, she's right. If they don't know the truth up front, it could play hell with things if they find out whatever Harm considers to be the facts. God, I hate this._ Still, as much as it pained him, he had to make sure she understood what she was doing. "You know ... some of them ... might not trust you completely afterwards. They haven't had time to get to know you like we have, and this'll be a shock." _Here's looking at you, Dad._ And then there was Cissie. The signals he was getting from her weren't reassuring at all.

She nodded, and pulled a hand away to wipe at shining eyes. "I know, but it's like you said a long time ago. I'm not perfect, just like everyone else. I'm just me, and I have to let people accept me--or not--as best they can. I've got my friends, and I've got you. I'll handle it."

_Wow. You're a lot stronger than everyone thinks, beautiful._ He felt himself smiling, even as his own eyes watered. "You really remember everything I say?"

She gave him a watery grin. "No way. Just the really good stuff. Come here, Tim," she whispered, grasping the back of his beck and pulling his head down. He smiled and squeezed her waist, and as their lips met reveled in the sensation of the entire world falling away. By the time they separated, he was pleasantly warm all over, and grinned dopily at her. She giggled, her own cheeks flushed. "Now come on," she said, grabbing his hand and standing up. "Let's get this over with before I lose my nerve."

Most of the euphoria burned away as Robin remembered exactly what he had to do, but the pleasantly warm feeling remained. "Sure thing," he squeezed her hand, small smile still on his face. "Let's do it."

* * *

Ishido's declaration hung in the air like a noxious cloud, and for a while no one seemed willing to speak. Dana watched with growing unease as Cissie ground out a nasty bit of profanity and stalked out of camera range. Connor and Cassie had wandered across the room, and were floating in front of a large window, talking in strained voices too low for Dana to understand.

"Well, Agent Maad," Martha Kent said after a long moment, more than a little frostily, "that's _one_ way to end the conversation. I hope you actually meant it. Hyperbole won't help anyone's mood right now." Jonathan nodded, looking grave.

"Trust me, ma'am," the agent responded quietly, and Dana thought he looked just a bit pale. "_He's_ not something I would joke about. It's not that he's the most powerful--he's not, though he's certainly going to be very hard to take down. I've even seen people more vicious, smarter, and less ruled by their emotions. But this just got personal for almost everyone here, in more ways than I want to get into without Robin here to do the speechifying. But I'll give you a hint. I get that you're all under stress, so you probably didn't notice, but take a closer look at his name. William _Hayes_. Sound familiar?"

Something tickled the back of Dana's mind, and then all at once came forth in a burst of recollection. _"This is Greta Hayes. We ... we're seeing each other."_ The color drained out of her face. "Oh, Lord. William Hayes. Greta Hayes. So they're ...?"

"Siblings. Sort of," Ishido supplied quickly. "William was adopted. Hell of a black sheep, isn't he? APES has been looking for him for almost two years. I was on the task force for a while. They shut us down about three months ago 'cause we couldn't find _shit_. The bastard's entirely too slippery."

"What?" Cassie was suddenly floating next to him, Connor not too far behind. She looked _pissed_. "You've been chasing him for _years_ and didn't tell us? What the hell were you thinking?"

Ishido groaned, surprising Dana by not seeming to mind being yelled at in the least. "It wasn't that simple. Half the time we weren't even sure he was actually on the planet. Six times we tracked down imitators who'd gotten the idea of copycatting him after you guys kept him from killing the Pope. And I'm pretty sure he personally sent us on at least a dozen very complicated wild goose chases. The agency was dumping money, time, and resources out the ass and had nothing to show for it, not one single solid lead. Someone at the top decided it was getting too embarrassing and shoved the whole thing under a rug. Bringing it up seemed like rubbing salt in the wound."

"He tried to kill the Pope?" Jack asked, jaw slack.

Dana's head was spinning. _Tim and his friends saved the Pope?_ That wasn't the scary thing. She'd never known. It hadn't been mentioned on any news outlet she knew of. What other amazing things had he done that she had never heard about?

"Oh, yeah," Connor frowned. "Got pretty close, too. Brainwashed Reddy into doing his dirty work. Cassie and me had to hold him off without hurting him so we could get him back. Tim went sword-to-staff with Harm long enough for the Pope to get to safety, and we couldn't have done it without Greta. He escaped, and I'm pretty sure that was when he decided he hated our guts."

"_You_ all stopped him?" Jack shook his head. "Unreal."

Connor chuckled. "Try not to sound so surprised. We were a little rough around the edges back then, but we pulled off some pretty good ones when Rob got us focused." His eyes narrowed. "We're better now than we were then. Harm's toast, I promise, but it'll probably be nasty."

Martha just looked worriedly at him. "At least you're confident. Lord, this kind of thing is the reason we always try to keep you and Clark from regaling us with stories."

"My doctor's always telling me he can never figure out where all my hypertension comes from," Jonathan joined in, smiling grimly. "I'm starting to see why you kept the details light on this one, son."

Kon matched his dour look. "And you haven't even heard the worst yet."

"Damn," Garfield groaned, his green skin paled to the color of mint-chocolate chip ice cream. "Why didn't we ever hear about this guy? Does this have something to do with the Justice League putting a lock on Greta's file?"

"I'm sure," Raven said quickly, favoring him with a quirked eyebrow. "As for why they wouldn't mention it--we have our sore spots too. Starfire, Victor, you and I, the Outsiders--we don't like talking too much about the Wilsons or Blackfire, either." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Or Trigon. Some pains are better left private, when they can be." Gar put his hand over hers, but said nothing.

Dana watched, grimly fascinated. Part of her was really curious about who those people were, but she was rapidly coming to realize that when the people around her didn't readily volunteer a piece of information, it was usually something she wouldn't enjoy finding out about in the least. _Which makes the fact that no one wants to talk about this Harm person without backup that much more unsettling. Harm. What a stupid supervillian name._ She blinked. Where had _that_ come from?

Garfield winced, but nodded. "Fair enough. We definitely keep more than our share of closet skeletons." He stood. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Someone should go check on Bart. It makes me nervous when he starts to get emo on us."

Raven nodded, and Dana had never found herself so interested in the subtle looks two people shot each other across a table. With these two, she could almost _see_ the words being silently spoken. But it wasn't like watching Tim and Greta. With them, she could come close to guessing the meaning of a nod or a smile, but with these two, everything was so subtle it was like watching a foreign language. "Try to be back quickly. The sooner we're all here, the sooner we can get this over with."

He nodded. "You got it." And with that, he turned and all but ran through the door.

"Kid's got the right idea," Ishido frowned. "I'd go check Donny and Oshi, but I'd probably just end up setting Donny off. He bawls like a madman when he knows I'm in a bad mood."

Cassie frowned, "I guess I should start trying to get people together."

So Dana watched, along with the contemplative Kents and her brooding husband, as the girl who was apparently Wonder Woman's apprentice started pacing while she talked into her earpiece. Over the next few minutes, people started trickling back into the room. Anita came first, and even though her mask was back in place, the way she stomped to her chair muttering about "that bastard Harm" and saying plenty of things in Cajun French made her mood obvious. She greeted them all curtly as she rubbed her temples. Shortly afterwards the odd young man everyone called Snapper--Dana was starting to suspect, with growing disbelief, that was his real name--strolled in wiping his hands on an oily rag he stuffed in his back pocket. He wore no mask to disguise his emotions and waved at them all as he positioned himself on the far side of the room, watching the ice in silence. She thought to ask about Vic, but soon enough he came barreling through the door. Most of his armor was still scraped, gouged, and dirty, and a few pieces were missing completely, revealing the complex machinery underneath, but the worst of the damaged seemed fixed. "Hello, Vic," she smiled, "I'm glad to see you're not ... sparking ... anymore." _That sounded lame, Dana._

He smiled thinly. "Carr here isn't a bad assistant. Most the internal damage is fixed, anyway. I was just about to use some of those Kryptonian nanobots to finish it out and do some cosmetic work." He looked at Snapper. "You _sure_ you know how to operate them? I don't want to get turned into a toaster of something."

The younger man grinned. "It'll be a," he snapped his fingers, "snap. Trust me."

Vic smirked. "Famous last words." Then he noticed the viewer on the far wall. "So this is our guy? William Hayes. Wait a minute. Does have something to do with--"

Snapper frowned. "Greta, yes. Brother by adoption. Not exactly something she wanted publicized, especially since he's been missing for about two years and we'd all taken to pretending he didn't exist."

"Wonderful," Vic frowned. "Psychotic, murderous family members. She's _definitely_ Titan material."

Dana narrowed her eyes. She had no idea what that meant, but most of the explanations she came up with in her head were less than reassuring. _He better not start judging her based on being related to this monster._ But she didn't really think that'd be an issue. Tim had spoken highly of Vic before--always calling him Cyborg--and she didn't think Tim would respect anyone who held others vicariously guilty. Next to her, Jack and Ishido scowled at each other. _Oh, wonderful. Jack doesn't manage to bond with anyone but the one person Tim seems to like the least._ She found her own frown growing. _Got to figure out what's going on there. There's got to be a reason Tim and Greta--and everyone else--are on such rocky terms with him. He seems okay._

"You're taking this well," Raven said, raising an eyebrow.

"Just trying to get a last little bit of humor out there. Somehow, I think hearing the whole story on this guy will squeeze whatever joviality I have left right of me."

"Count on it, Cy," Superboy scowled.

"Alright," Cassie said suddenly as she stepped back in range of Dana's hearing. "Thanks. Talk to you in a few minutes, I guess." She looked up at the rest of the room. "Oracle's patching Speedy through. Once everyone's back in here, we're set."

Dana blinked. _Speedy? Somebody else with superspeed?_ A blank monitor lit up, revealing a slightly distorted picture of a lavender-hooded girl with, from what little she could see of it, short-cropped strawberry blonde or red hair. Like Robin, her eyes were hidden behind a domino mask. Though Dana couldn't see all of her costume, what she could see was a dark, rich red (with matching lipstick), with mustard-yellow forearm guards. A large white bow and quiver hung over her shoulders. Combined with the hard look on her face, the ensemble created an aura that was more than a little intimidating.

_"Speedy here,"_ she said after a moment, voice softer than Dana was expecting. "Hope I don't look too distorted on this thing. These communicator cameras are like amusement park mirrors. Wish I could see you guys." She frowned. "I've been worried. Has the meeting started yet?"

"Not quite," Cassie smiled at her, "we've figured out we're dealing with a seriously nasty guy named William Hayes. As soon as Greta and Tim show back up, we'll brief everyone."

Speedy nodded. "Sounds good. I'm at the top of a clock tower right now. I shouldn't be overheard. So ... the masks came off." She smirked. "Batman will love that, won't he? Good idea, though. I'll be perfectly happy to introduce myself in person once we finish tracking down Brick. We're getting close, I think. The Arrows are interrogating sources as we speak."

Kon chuckled. "Be glad Rob wasn't around for that Batman crack, Speedy. I think he's getting a little sore with us over that."

Vic shook his head, and Dana found herself once again totally absorbed in watching the interplay between all of them. Even Jack seemed to be enthralled. He was scowling a little less. "Anything out of the ordinary in Star City besides Brick?"

Speedy shook her head, knocking more locks of hair into the view of the camera. It was definitely an orangy red. "Nah. Communications are better now, but still not totally fixed. They put out the news that Brick was out over the radio. All the normal scumbags are hiding out, waiting to see what his mood's like. Probably hope he'll manage to take us out this time, so they don't have to worry about us anymore."

Jack looked at Agent Maad, raising an eyebrow. "Seems like that's a popular thing to do with you all."

Dana wasn't a master of reading expressions through domino masks yet, but she was pretty sure Speedy's eyebrows shot up. "Who's that?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to lose his nerve. She smirked. _At least you're not just blurting things out anymore, honey_, she thought, taking his hand. "Robin's father. This is his step-mother speaking. I'd introduce us better, but I don't want to risk being overheard." _See, I'm getting the hang of this._

Dana hadn't known it was possible, but the girl's eyebrows seemed to rise even further. Someday, she was going to get Tim to explain how the lenses widened like that. _"Oh. _Oh._ Well, uh, hello."_ She smirked. _"Now I really wish I could see you guys. So when do you think Robin's getting back?"_

As she finished, the section of wall that led to the rest of the Fortress once again dissolved, and she grinned as her eyes locked on her stepson and his girlfriend. They both looked much more composed, though unquestionably grim. Garfield walked in behind them and took his seat next to Raven without a word. But then Jack tensed up next to her, and she had to resist the urge to groan.

"Here we go," he whispered to her. "Maybe now we'll find out what the hell is going on."

_Well, he has a point there. If I have to stay in suspense much longer, I'll end up with an ulcer._ She blinked. _Hell, I'll probably end up with an ulcer anyway. How does Tim deal with this stuff day after day and not go _insane_? Then again, I guess every day isn't this bad._

If Tim overheard his father, he didn't let on. Instead, he just smiled at the monitor where Speedy was and tapped his earpiece. "Hey, Speedy. Glad you could join us."

She smiled, and Dana didn't miss the strain in her expression. _"Just waiting for your call."_

Tim nodded. "Sorry. It's taken a bit to get everything straightened out. Glad to have you here._"_

As Tim and Greta took their seats--and it was only then, when they were sitting across from her again, that she noticed Greta had _definitely_ been crying--Cassie and Kon floated over to join them. "So," Cassie said after a moment, "did Bart call you?"

"Yeah," Tim nodded. "I certainly understand him wanting to sit this one out."

"Wish we could join him," Greta said wistfully. She looked at the monitors. "I guess Cissie's going to skip too," she said finally, a note of uncertainty. Tim's arm shifted under the table, and Dana guessed he was taking her hand.

"Bonnie, Alfred, and Leslie will be listening from the infirmary," Robin continued. "They've turned their microphones off for the time being." He sighed. "I think they needed a break." He turned to Vic. "Cy, good to see you back, uh, without the sparking."

Vic grinned, though it was definitely muted. "Thanks. It's nice not to have to worry about catching myself on fire anymore." His expression grew serious. "So, we ready to rock?"

Tim looked at Greta, and when she nodded Dana had to fight not to scowl. She didn't think him having to ask her permission, especially in light of fog of dread that had been in the air since William Hayes'--her brother's--picture appeared on that viewer, was a good sign. _Whatever's going on, you're right in the middle of it, aren't you Greta?_

"All right," Tim said after a moment.

_No, that isn't right._ The Robin vibes were coming off him in waves, almost strong enough to send a chill down her spine. Even Jack seemed to sense the difference. He was certainly sitting up straighter in his chair and looking genuinely curious about what was going on around him, and not just annoyed.

"Anita," he continued, "one thing first. You got a look at that thing on Traya's back? I want to make sure we're not putting off something we shouldn't be."

The masked girl bobbed her head. "Yeah, mon." She took out her knives and started twirling them. Dana wondered if maybe that wasn't the best way to deal with stress. "It's a curse mark, infused with powerful magic. The energy's contained within the wound and the bone underneath. Cutting it out isn't an option. But it doesn't seem to be spreading. And no, I can't tell you what it does. I don't recognize the symbol, and that'll be what controls the effects. I don't recognize the language."

Robin nodded, looking grim, but Greta spoke, eyes narrowed. "Is it hurting her?"

Anita shook her head. "No--well, I'm sure the wound itself is painful, from the way she acted when she brushed it in her sleep, but the magical energy just seems to be sitting there. Like it's waiting for something. She didn't even notice," Anita continued, pulling one of her gloves off and revealing a just-more-than-slightly burnt hand, "when I tried to drain it off."

Agent Maad bolted up in his chair, eyes wide. "Anita! Are you alright?"

He started to reach out for her arm, but she'd already regloved her hand and returned it to her lap. "Don't worry, Uncle Ish. It's fine. I cut off the spell quick enough. It's not any worse than the time I put my hand inside a frying pan." Dana gave her a strange look, and felt Jack mirror her. Anita chuckled. "I was a bit of a problem child, I guess. Or just stupid." She turned her attention back to Robin. "Sorry I couldn't be more help. Harm seems to know exactly what kind of magic I'm _not_ familiar with."

"It certainly fits his pattern." Tim said with a nod. "I'll see if I can't get Jason to take a look at her. I need to bug him about those corpses, anyway."

She nodded. "Cool. Think he'd mind me sitting in when he looks at her? I want to know what that thing is and why I never found out about it."

Tim nodded, smiling softly. "Sure thing." Then his jaw tensed, and the smile melted off his face. "Now, we need to go over some things for those of you who've never dealt with Harm before." His eye lenses narrowed to slits. "Let me warn you ahead of time, most of this isn't very pleasant, and it gets pretty graphic. I know you'll have questions, and we'll do our best to answer them." He was looking painfully grim now.

Dana's own frown was painful as she looked once more at William Hayes' visage. _What the hell _are_ you? Guess I'm about to find out._ After some affirmative grunts, and the realization that everyone was firmly in listening mode--even the Kents looked terribly dour--Tim surprised her by tapping his earpiece. "Oracle? We're ready."

The green floating head reappeared on its screen. _"Alright, Robin. Bringing up his file now."_ Harm's--Dana was increasingly finding it difficult to think of someone so obviously evil by a name she associated even partly with Greta--picture was replaced with a bat emblem proclaiming "Omega Clearance Level Access Required." and three lines of text: "Primary Lock," "Secondary Lock," and "Tertiary Lock." Each had a red light next to it. _"I'm providing my decryption password now."_ The floating head symbol dimmed, and she went silent. After a moment, the first lock turned green, and the floating head returned to its full, glowing glory.

"Nice," Connor said after a moment. "Guess being super paranoid is good for something after all."

Garfield whistled. "Damn. What's on the next screen? Launch codes for the Batmissles?"

Raven nudged him, though her own eyebrows were as close to her hairline as they could go. "Interesting." Vic just kept staring. Dana couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking, but it was obvious he was not encouraged by what he was seeing.

Tim nodded, tapping his earpiece. "Secure file access voiceprint Robin-Omega One. Authorize."

Another green light. _"Authorized."_

"So," Jack raised an eyebrow, "who's next?"

In response, Greta reached up and tapped her ear, her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Secure file access voiceprint GH-Omega Seven. Authorize."

The last red light was gone. _"Authorized. Decrypting and accessing. Stand by."_

_What in the world? I thought she was retired._ "Why would you have to authorize access to this? I thought you weren't even involved with this sort of thing anymore, up until today."

Greta smiled sadly. "I wasn't. But you can't keep a full file on my brother without discussing things about me that ... I don't want available to just anyone. Batman made sure almost no one could see either of them without my permission."

"Wait a second," Speedy spoke up, wearing an almost comical look of disbelief. "Robin, you're telling me the same guy that wouldn't let you show your friends your face or tell them your name for almost a year and a half has files on his computer that can't be accessed without _Greta's_ permission? Alright, short stuff, how'd you manage that? Sure, it's your business, but according to Green Arrow, that wouldn't stop him from stomping all over it."

Greta just blushed, and Tim put his head in his hands. "Someday," he growled, "I'm going to record all this stuff and force Batman to listen to it. I don't think he really gets what you guys think of him. For what it matters, Greta's authorization isn't absolutely required. Batman can override if Superman and the Martian Manhunter agree and provide their codes. The idea is that Oracle and Greta and Bruce or I is enough ninety-nine percent of the time. And yes, part of it is out of ... courtesy."

_I just don't get it_, Dana thought sourly, _Her brother is a sick maniac, sure, but why would they need all this security to read about just how much of a maniac he is? And why would Greta have to agree to show it to people?_ Then it hit her._ There's something about her in here. Something they don't want anybody to know. Uh oh._

_"Decryption complete. Displaying."_

And just like that, Dana observed everyone's attention snap back to the display. All traces of humor were gone from the air, and the conversation was over.

"Let's get this done," Tim said, as if the whole conversation had never even happened. "This is William Hayes, birth name Ryan Jackson, otherwise known as Harm. He's physically about twenty-two years old--though I doubt very much he's still aging--and bounced around in the foster system from the age of eleven after his parents died in what was deemed an unfortunate accident. Evidence is not conclusive on that point..."


	16. Days of Future Past III

AN: See previous chapters for full notes. As usual, I own nothing. All constructive feedback welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

As Dana listened to her stepson--her son, in every sense that mattered to her--grim, anxious curiosity morphed into uncomprehending, righteous disgust. Tim was describing a _monster_. It was one thing to read about Manson and Son of Sam and Zodiac and the rest, but here was the real thing, staring her in the face. Murder, rape, animal mutilation and other depravities linked to occult activities. All before his seventeenth birthday, before he'd ever began operating as Harm. No arrests, trials, or convictions. None of it even officially linked to the same person. Tim thought the identity under which Ellen and Burt Hayes adopted him was likely created mere months before. Likely some combination of bribery, magic, hacking, and identity theft. No one had been able to link the disparate crimes to an actual person until Tim managed to get a DNA sample when Young Justice saved the Pope. Once he began living as William Gregory (later William Hayes) he made absolutely no contact with anything from his former life. Tim called him brilliant for restarting his life so effectively, and very likely a polymath. She wasn't willing to interrupt to ask what that meant. _Later._

Only five minutes in, without any detail about what he'd done once Greta's parents had adopted him, and she was already feeling sick to her stomach. Jack's pale face told her she wasn't alone. But the looks on the people around her were far more interesting. Greta's eyes were somehow both dull and smoldering. _She knew about all this already._ Trying to guess what Anita was thinking was impossible as long as she wore the mask, and Agent Maad was doing a very credible impression of an emotionless, very observant statue. Connor and Cassie showed similar fury, but lacked Greta and Tim's terrible intensity. _They're angry, but it's not personal for them_, she realized, unsure where the epiphany came from, but absolutely certain she was right. _God. Greta must still think of him as family, and Tim ... Tim didn't stop him before._ Maybe most of her son's life was still largely a mystery to her, but if she knew one thing for certain it was that Tim--_Robin_--loathed the idea of failing. _And at something like this. It must be tearing him up inside. But he'll never show it. Not to me or Jack._ Speedy put her communicator up to her ear like a cell phone pretty quickly after the briefing stared so she could "keep an eye out for trouble," so it was impossible to guess what she was thinking.

The older Titans and the Kents were interesting. From the looks of shock and horror on their faces, the farmers had never heard any of this. Their eyes kept darting over to Connor, but for the most part they just stared at Tim, who seemed to be ignoring their reaction--and everyone else's. Garfield actually looked as disgusted as she felt, and Raven, who looked remarkably calm and composed, though there was a tightness around her eyes Dana couldn't identify, had discretely placed a hand on his shoulder. Vic was glaring at Tim and the viewscreen, and the cybernetic eye aside, it was impressively off-putting.

She shook herself back into the present. Tim was wrapping up his description of Harm's pre-Hayes past. As vile and horrible as everything had been so far, her instincts, everything she had observed, and especially the way Greta had _flipped out_ when they knew it was him told her what came next was absolutely crucial.

Tim's voice hardened. "That leads us to the point where Ellen and Burt Hayes, two high upper middle class Gothamites, decided to adopt a needy youth. William was apparently a shy, kind young man that everyone at Gotham County DCFS seemed to love. They had no idea what they were getting into." Dana's heart skipped a beat. Even though his voice never wavered, Tim had paled, and Greta was positively green. She cut in at that point to recount how her parents had talked to her one day, and told her how they were taking in someone a lot less fortunate than them. She spoke softly of how she'd distrusted him from the beginning, when she was only eleven, about how looking at him made her flesh crawl. How, in the months after he moved in, he seemed to act like two different people--the perfect adopted son to her parents, and an increasingly creepy, emotionally abusive foster brother when alone with her. She never managed to convince them he was anything but a saint. Dana was sure Greta would be bawling if she weren't brimming with fury. The cloud of righteous anger that hung in the air between she and Tim was enough make the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. _Or maybe that's my nerves._

Then everything took a turn for the surreal. Greta, with Tim's help, told them of Buzz--a real, live _demon_--who had made friends with William in the guise of a human. How they both took an even more frightening interest in her. She was to be William's _gift_ to Buzz, to be kept in his own private hell dimension, as payment for more power. Of course, she didn't know that at the time, not even when William burst in to the bathroom one day as she bathed and, grinning, _electrocuted her_.

"And ... then I died," Greta whispered, her words somehow still managing to echo across the room. All was silence, except for someone's high-pitched groaning.

_She's serious. Oh, my God..._ Everyone looked at her, and with a start, Dana realized the groaning was _hers_. She wrapped her arms around one of Jack's and nodded, taking a deep breath. Everyone was nice enough to act like nothing happened, and the story continued.

She listened as Greta talked about waking up as the smoke-being she'd transformed into earlier, how she'd apparently been _abducted_ by the government after being declared legally dead, and experimented on, _tortured_ for years, until by the time she escaped and met Tim and the others she no longer knew her own name, or much of anything else. _Tim saved her life_, Dana thought, _he and his friends knowingly protected her from the _government_, and lied to the Justice League about it. Well, good for them._ She thought of Agent Maad. _No way in hell. There's no way he'd be here if he had anything to do with it. They wouldn't allow it. Would they? Tim is awfully tense about having him here. Damn._ They'd saved her and hidden her and she joined Young Justice, where she learned she had been granted the powers of a warder as a way to get her out of Buzz's control--empowered to carry wandering souls to the next plane of existence. _Oh, my God. She's like the Angel of Death._ Dana shook herself. _No. That's not right. Calm down. Dane. She's just a girl. With amazing powers. Still, just a girl._

Then Harm tried to kill the Pope. Young Justice stopped him, and when he went back home that night, Burt Hayes confronted him and ended up shooting him to death and sentenced to die. Ellen Hayes had a massive psychotic break. Tim was doing all the talking now. Greta had gone totally silent and put her head in her hands, shoulders rising and falling shakily. Dana guessed from the look of his shoulders that one of his arms was around her under the table.

"Whoa, wait a second. You said this bastard _died_," Vic cut in. "Then what the hell's going on?"

"Hell froze over," Greta looked up at them, eyes red and absolutely _flaming_ with anger. "I'm sure you remember."

Vic's human eye blinked once. "Yeah. You mean he was involved with that? _Shit._"

"For those who might not, we mean it literally." Tim said, "Lucifer abdicated the throne for a while, and everything went, well, to hell. You saw it. Plumes of fire in the streets. Demons everywhere. The government spun it as an alien invasion. The truth was deemed too inflammatory. I know you've got questions, but please, let us finish."

Dana's mind spun. She remembered the "alien invasion," and had been perfectly happy to believe that's what it was. She'd always had faith in God, sometimes it was all she had, but Tim had just confirmed the existence of the Devil and Hell with all the gravity of someone giving directions to the closest post office. Greta, if she understood right, was an agent of God, not that they were phrasing it that way. It was all just too much to take in. _But you've got to_, a small, hard voice called from somewhere deep inside her. _You've got to keep it together and get through this. Listen to them. They're not done yet._ And they weren't. _Damn._

Greta had taken over again. "Somehow, he used me as a portal to get back into the realm of the living. But he was still dead. _Is_ still dead. And you can't hurt someone that's already dead. I tried." She swiped at teary eyes. "I tried _so_ hard, but he was too strong, or maybe I didn't push hard enough. I remember him laughing and knocking me out and when I woke up I was back in a plastic cage again and there were_ doctors_," she said the word like a curse,"swarming around me and grinning like maniacs. I was stuck there for weeks, and thought that was it."

"Holy ... damn it," Garfield gaped at her, his face mirroring the anguish Dana felt. "You ... they ... _again?_ Jesus. How'd you get out?"

She smiled, and looked at Tim. "My friends blew the side of Mount Rushmore--where they were keeping me--off and helped me escape. Again. After that ... no one come after me anymore. But we never found Billy."

_Billy,_ Dana blinked numbly. _She still calls him Billy. After all this?_ It was easier to think about than her history with men in white coats.

Tim frowned. "After that, we lost contact with him. It was like he dropped off the face of the planet." He sighed. "Until now." For a long moment, there was absolute silence. Aside from Garfield, the older Titans were unreadable, the younger ones looked emotionally spent, Snapper looked like he wanted to throw up, and Ishido was still demonstrating his skill with statue impersonation. The Kents were pale and stared with Greta with no small amount of sorrow.

"_Fucking hell,_" Jack finally said, voice like a thunderclap in the silence. "Is that _it_?" His face softened for a moment as he looked at Greta, but he quickly averted suddenly stormy eyes.

"Everything about Harm, yes," Greta said after a moment of staring at him with wide eyes. "But not everything you need to hear. There's more, about me. Things I never wanted to have to tell anyone else. But you need to know."

Dana's heart sunk. The look of pain in Greta's eyes had only increased. But Martha Kent, of all people, cut her off before she could say anything. "Dear," she began, eyes sparkling, "if it's got nothing to do with this, then why would you feel like you need to tell us?"

Tim clenched his fists until Dana could hear bones popping, but the look on his face never changed, and he remained silent. Greta shook her head. "It has nothing to do with Harm, no. But it might have _everything_ to do with stopping him." She sighed. "If he knows as much as he seems to, he'll know what I'm about to tell you, and he might try to use some twisted version of it against us--to make you not trust me, or anyone willing to be my friend. So I'm going to tell you myself, to make sure you hear the truth." She looked down just enough for her golden bangs to cover her eyes. "You can make your own decisions about me afterwards, but believe me when I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."

"Oh, boy," Garfield whispered. No one else made a sound.

And so it went on. Greta told them how she had known nothing of her purpose after being rescued the first time. Not even what she really was. How she was no longer able to solidify enough to really _feel_ anything. How her brother, during their conflicts, had placed the idea into her head that she was a creature born of evil. _Meant_ to be evil. And then she told them about meeting Darkseid--"I called him Doug," she said, eyes flashing with what Dana recognized as self-loathing--whom Dana gathered was pure evil, even if she didn't know who or what he was. She told them how he had further tried to convince her to be his apprentice when Young Justice was captured on his planet, and how she had been held in his thrall enough to believe him when he said her friends were safe, even as they were being tortured. Her voice dripped with so much sorrow Dana did not think once to blame her. But she had shaken his influence and tried to fight him. And failed. "I ran away, and we all escaped. I hoped that would be the end of it."

Then--the details were sketchy here, and Dana figured that was deliberate--she found out her friends were afraid of her because of her powers. Even Tim. One look around the room and the shame on everyone's features, strongest, somehow, on Tim's masked face, told her that was the truth. _What could have happened to make Tim afraid of her? He's certainly not now._ Tim left the team after some sort of spat neither of them were willing to discuss, and she blamed herself. After he came back she recovered her memory just in time to track her father down in prison and have him tell her she was an evil, wicked creature, just as the so called god Darkseid had. _Jesus Christ, did anything _good_ ever happen to her?_ _The one thing she was most afraid of in the world, and her father threw it in her face. What the hell was he thinking? Could he not accept her because she thought she was dead? Because she wasn't a normal human?_

And through all of it, she told them, she'd been afraid to tell anyone so she didn't drive them away, and her own belief that you were either completely good or completely evil wasn't helping. "I knew I wasn't completely good, so I figured, you know I had to be ... the other thing. I wasn't good at the whole shades of grey thing. I was stupid, and too afraid of hurting or losing anyone to really ask for help."

"No one's completely good," Dana heard herself say. _Damn!_ She hadn't meant to speak.

Greta almost smirked. "I know that now. I was so concerned with not being evil I became a bit too ... extreme. So, then I found out my father was going to be ex-exec-executed. After knowing what had happened to Mommy, I kind of snapped."

After everyone else had refused her, even Tim, Greta got help from an alien team member who didn't mind breaking Earth laws, and she broke her father out. She made sure to tell them no one died, and Dana breathed a sigh of relief. Burt Hayes had been quite pleased with her, and encouraged her to ignore the criticism her team leveled against her. And it got better. Darkseid chose that exact moment to show up and lecture her own how her friends were constraining her from her "true potential," whatever the hell that meant. Even her _father_ encouraged her.

Dana swallowed, a tight feeling in her throat. _That's not all of it. Damn it, there's something else._

Greta gazed at some point in the distance, refusing to look at any of them. "Dad and I ... we went with him. Reddy tried to stop me ... to help me ... but, I ... I was too far gone, and I hurt him pretty bad. Darkseid took me to his palace. Trained me. Encouraged me to be cruel and vicious and...I listened, and not just because he hurt me when I refused. I listened because he was never afraid of me. I thought he had accepted me." She scoffed. "What an idiot I was. He saw me as his weapon, and nothing else. He wasn't afraid of me because he could've killed me at any time. But I didn't see that then. Dad encouraged me and acted like he loved me for what I was doing until, one day, I saw him staring at me with such terrible pain on his face, and the next thing I knew, he ... he was gone. I never saw him again. After that, I finally realized how far I'd fallen, but I thought it was too late. I'd already done too much. Hurt too many people. I just let myself keep falling. Then, when he thought I was ready, he took me back to earth ... to help him destroy it. There was nothing else I could do but accept. I couldn't ... if he rejected me ... I thought he was all I had left. All I deserved. So I came back." She fell silent and looked away.

"Well," Jonathan Kent all but exploded, "for Heaven's sake, don't stop there. What happened?"

A deep, shuddering breath, and she was talking again. "My friends tried to stop me," she continued in that same hollow whisper. "But I was too angry. I wasn't holding back." Dana didn't miss the implication. She put her mind to it, and she beat _all_ of them. Apparently easily.

"She creamed us," Connor supplied helpfully, looking grey. "That is, until Tim showed up. No weapons or anything. Not even the suit. I thought we were dead."

"Tim," Greta smiled thinly. "Not Robin, or Robin wearing normal clothes. It was the first time I'd ever seen him like that." The smile grew just a bit wider. That, at least, was a fond memory. "I remember the shock calmed me down enough that I actually stopped and listened, instead of attacking. And he...he just talked to me. Made me realize how I was being used. Said things I needed to hear, but had always been afraid to talk about before I went off with Darkseid." She smiled fully then. "He helped me find my way back, and just like that, I stopped. Then, Darkseid showed up. He was _furious_ at my throwing away all he had _taught me_," she finished, her voice tinged with disgust and loathing, probably more than a little bit directed at herself. "He decided to punish me, and did the worst thing he could think of."

Suddenly, Dana remembered her conversation with Tim on Friday night. There had been parts that hadn't made much sense then. _"We've known each other for years, actually. I like to think we've always been very good friends ... even though I've really stepped in it on occasion."_ _Oh, Lord. He blames himself for what happened to her. For not catching the warning signs._ Something else she heard earlier, in the flying motorcycle, popped into her head. _"A monster stole my powers,"_ Greta had said then. "He made you a normal human, didn't he?"

She nodded. "To him, being powerless and mortal is the worst thing imaginable. But I could touch the world again. Taste it and smell it. I was thrilled." She sighed. "And that's it." She stood. "I ...I just thought you should know. And I promise," she swept her eyes over the room, "not a day goes by that I don't wish I could take back what I did, and I'll die before I let myself go that far astray again. Before I let any of you be hurt. So if--when--Billy tries to use this to convince you that's not true, please remember what I've said." She turned and walked slowly to the exit.

"Holy crap," Gar spoke after she'd disappeared. "Did that just happen? _Damn it_." Raven stroked his hand, even paler than normal. If Dana wasn't mistaken, she was tearing up. Gar's eyes were glazed over; he looked a million miles away.

Dana took a deep breath, letting herself get lost in her own thoughts. She needed to decide how she felt about this, quickly. _There's no question, really_. Strip away all the superhuman stuff, and you were left with a girl, abused emotionally and physically, who didn't know how to deal with what she was feeling, and too afraid of losing her friends to risk asking for help. Her father--who had apparently been driven insane by the experience of killing his foster-son--just made things worse. She was quite literally cut off from the world around her, and the person she felt closest to, Tim, had a girlfriend and at the time didn't return her feelings. On top of that, they were all afraid of her because of the power she had been given. And from the sound of what she could do, that seemed quite a normal, if unfortunate, reaction. Darkseid had taken advantage of a terrible situation, and given her the one thing she wanted: seemingly unconditional acceptance. By the time she realized what she had really gotten into, she had severed all ties with her friends--attacked them--and thought there was no way to go but deeper into the darkness. _I've heard of something like this before._ "I don't believe it. Just like Charles Manson."

Greta was honest about all the things she'd done while under his thrall, but she'd done horrible things. Could coming back from that be as simple as she and her friends made it out to be?

Tim raised an eyebrow. "The comparison fits. I'm not sure Darkseid would appreciate being likened to a human who used psychology and manipulation to get others to do his dirty work, but it fits him perfectly. None of us--I--didn't realize what he was doing, or how much she needed help, until it was too late. When she came back, I knew I couldn't fight her. I'd failed her, and Darkseid was using her. I had to get her back, or die trying." He sighed. "Some days, I still can't believe he didn't just kill us all after she rebelled."

Robin narrowed his eyes. "I feel like I need to say this, but I only want to say it once. At first, I didn't want her to tell you all any of this. But she's right that you needed to know, despite how much it might cost her. Even after everything she did, Greta willingly stepped back into the light, and she's worked hard to overcome her ... issues, all without any encouragement to do so from me or anyone else, though we've certainly been there for support. I understand if maybe you're afraid of her now. I was too, once, and if I would do anything to take that back. Maybe things wouldn't have gone so wrong. Unless you've known her as long as some of us have, it's a lot to take in. That's why she wanted you to find out now, so you'd have time to adjust and no one could try to poison you against her when it might get someone killed.

"I want you to know I trust her implicitly, with my life and everyone else's here. And if you think I'm biased, consider that she knows Batman's name. She's seen his face and been to his cave. In my experience, there's no one on earth who's confidence is harder to earn." He slumped in his char. "That's all I have to say."

And just like that, Dana had her answer. Tim trusted her with his life, with his identity. _And with his heart._ And she knew it had to do with more than the fact she happened to be dating him. After all, everything had happened before they were even close to being together. _That's enough for me. There's no way you can look at this where she isn't a victim. And when it counted, she chose Tim and her friends, not Darkseid._ Even with Tim's help, breaking away from someone that powerful and persuasive would have been _incredibly_ difficult. She had no idea how powerful he was, but she was quickly growing to loathe even the thought of him. Greta had Dana's sympathy, and inherited the trust she put in Tim. _And that's just how it's going to be._

"Robin--Tim," Jonathan Kent said, looking grim, but concerned, "hell, I wish she'd stayed in here. I would've liked to said this to her. She's not the only one he's abused, manipulated, and used."

Martha nodded. "We'll find her later, dear." Her eyes hardened. "That self styled _god_ captured my son and grandson, and has done horrible things to them both. I'll never forget seeing my baby, leashed, brainwashed and leading an army against earth. I knew he was being used, either forced or not in his right mind, and cursed myself for not being strong enough to help bring him back." Connor's mouth hung open, and he'd gone grey. "I think it's easier for him to reconcile what he was made to do. He was under very direct mind control. Greta was manipulated and lied to and made to believe what Darkseid wanted her to without any help from drugs or machines. I think that must be harder to forgive yourself for."

Dana realized with a jolt she was talking about _Superman_. She remembered the one time he'd turned against Earth and actually led an army, almost eight years ago now, with a horrible man seemingly made of rock. She'd had nightmares afterwards about the rock-man's flaming eyes. _So that's him._ Dana had watched on TV, too, though not enough to actually catch the name. She'd been too busy trying to get in touch with her family, convinced the world was coming to an end. Part of her mind wondered how she'd react to something like that now, after this.

"You tried to bring her back, just with words," Jonathan said softly, "and she had the strength to listen and pull away from him. You should both be proud, and we--Martha and I--won't ever hold what she did under his influence against her." He shuddered. "Not after almost losing our boy to the same monster." Raven nodded, eyes burning with _something_ Dana couldn't begin to identify. She didn't speak.

"He's right," Gar nodded, looking even paler now than he had earlier. "She's not the first to be used like this, and she won't be the last. We don't throw aside people who've managed to overcome something like that." He smiled. "And like you said, you trust her. That's good enough for me."

"Right," Vic nodded curtly, his mouth set into a thin line.

Tim looked straight at her. "Dana? Are you okay?"

Dana found herself smiling with more energy than she thought she had left. "Maybe I'm missing a few pieces of the puzzle that is you, honey, but you don't trust people who don't deserve it. And you certainly don't fall in love with them. If she was strong enough to survive all of that, I'm not holding it against her."

"I'm sure Batman wouldn't be so open with someone he considered a threat," Jack said flatly. After a moment, it became clear that was _all_ he intended to say.

"Agreed." Speedy smiled. "I'm not going to pretend I'm not more than a little freaked out, but it's _Greta_. Whatever she did ... whatever was done to her ... she's not evil." Her smile fell. "We've all got our issues. Some of us more than others. Hey, wait a second--damn. Arrow's trying to call me. I've gotta go. Let me know if you need me. Out." And she was gone.

"I'm glad you're all being so understanding about this," Snapper grinned. There was no doubt about it, he looked relieved.

"She's not the one that's been trying to kill us," Jack said lowly. He pointed at a screen displaying a picture of Harm. "For now, I think I'll spend my time loathing and fearing him," he growled.

Dana winced. _For now? Oh, hell. I hope that was a figure of speech._

"Alright, then," Tim grinned. "Thanks, everyone."

"Well," Ishido muttered. "That went better than I expected."

Anita nodded, speaking for the first time since the briefing began. "Yeah, mon."

Vic spoke again, voice strangely flat. Raven shot a quick look at him, inscrutable eyes narrowed. "Now that that's settled, it's still your barbeque, Robin. What's next?"

_Wow_, Dana thought, _that was abrupt._

"We get everyone back in here who didn't need to be here for this," Tim said flatly. "We've got some planning to do."

Vic nodded. "Okay, then."

* * *

_I can't believe we just did that_, Robin thought. Greta had been right: it was necessary if their past with Harm was any indication--he just loved to twist the truth and play mind games with his opponents--but it just wasn't fair. Whatever she did, the people here who didn't know her very well yet--the Kents, the older Titans, his parents--would have their first impressions forever altered by what they heard. It wasn't the sort of introduction Greta deserved to have to make. _But now it's done, and there's no taking it back. At least no one's looking like they want to go for the pitchforks. There are other things to worry about._ Greta sat next to him and held his hand, and he couldn't help but think of how relieved--and surprised--she'd looked when she came back in the room and no one looked at her with anything but sympathy. _Hope it's that simple. Cissie isn't back on the monitor yet._

He cleared his throat and ran his eyes over the war room. After he'd ended the full briefing was over, everyone who wanted no part of it returned, or checked in on one of the video monitors. Now that he thought about it, he really wasn't sure why Ishido had stayed. _He already knew all of that. Unless he was curious to see what we'd tell them. Whatever. It's not important now._

"So, Rob," Kon spoke, breaking the silence, "we're all done with Badguy 101. What now?"

Robin sighed. "Well, we've got two leads. The composition of those drones, and whatever Traya can tell us about whoever attacked her."

"Traya's still out of it," Cassie muttered.

"And that Blood guy," Gar frowned, "made sure to tell us it might take a while to figure out how those things tick."

Robin nodded. "So we're sort of stuck for the moment, at least in terms of the investigation." He narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't mean we don't plenty to do. As soon as we're done here, I'll be putting together a redacted version of Harm's dossier for the authorities. I can give it Commissioner Gordon in Gotham, and it should spread from there. They need to know what they're up against."

Dana sat up in chair a little. "How, uh, detailed, are you going be? You're not going to tell them as much as you told us, are you?"

Robin scowled. _Not even under torture._ "No. They don't need to know any of that. They _do_ need to know what he's capable of, and what we know about how to fight him."

"Wait a second," his father cut in, fingers steeped together and eyebrows knitted in a way Robin found entirely too familiar. "You said he was practically indestructible. _Undead._ How the hell do you fight _that?_"

Robin bit his tongue. It was a fair question, but he wasn't exactly sure what the best way to respond was without freaking everyone further out.

"I'll do it," Greta said after another few seconds. "Hal gave me my powers back so I _could_ do it." She matched Robin's scowl. "Not that he would tell me that."

Robin resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. _So much for breaking it to them gently._ But then he stopped short, a cold feeling settling in his chest. When it all came to a head, he could help, sure, but it would be up to Greta to finish Harm. She was the only one powerful enough to send him back. It was something he'd known, at least subconsciously, since the computer had said William's name. He grimaced. _I'm not going to just sit this one out, even if she has to strike the final blow._

"Wait," his father gaped. "I thought you meant you guided ghosts or something. You mean you can send people to ... _where?_ Hell? _Jesus Christ._" He looked pale, staring at her with wide eyes. Dana just rubbed her temples and ran her hands through her hair.

"I can force people who aren't meant to be on this plane off," Greta said icily, not looking away. Robin noted with more than a little pride she looked very calm. "Once they cross into the abyss, if I don't hold them there they go where they _deserve_. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can even help people who don't have to go yet stay. Injured people who would crossover without something to anchor them." She sighed. "I helped Traya's mother once." She wiped at her eyes. "Not this time."

Robin saw Dana, Martha, and Gar mouth "deserve," and "stay," and decided he needed to cut off this particular conversation before they got too sidetracked. An in-depth discussion of just how awe-inspiringly _powerful_ Greta was wouldn't help their situation. "We can talk more about that later," he said abruptly, drawing all attention back to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greta nod, looking relieved. _Don't mention it, angel._ "There's no point in talking about how we're going to beat him until we've figured out how to find him." He unsteepled his fingers, cracking his knuckles. "For now, we've got some logistical stuff to take care of. It's obvious this won't be ending soon. We need to make plans to stay here for the night. Kon, can you get one of the robots to coordinate sleeping quarters and all that? We also need to think about extra clothes, food, and so forth."

Kon nodded, and Robin thought he looked pleased to have something to do. "Sure thing. Everybody talk to me when you can about what you need, and I'll get you set." He smirked, folding his arms over his suit's S-shield.

"I need to check out of my hotel," Greta said suddenly, voice steady but urgent. "We're lucky he hasn't tried to attack it yet. There are hundreds of innocent people there."

"Right," Robin nodded. _I should of thought of that earlier. Damn._ "I can go with you as soon as--" he stopped suddenly; Greta was shaking her head.

"No," she frowned. "One of us should be here in case Traya wakes up. Bart? Would you mind giving me a hand?"

_"Both of them if you need it,"_ Bart said with a grin, staring at them from a console. _"Just say when."_

She nodded. "I will." She turned to Robin. "Sorry for the interruption."

"Don't worry about it. It was important," he returned, smiling at her. _Especially considering what you keep in your suitcases._ "If anyone else has anything they need to pick up, it'd be a good idea to get it as soon as possible." He didn't say "pick up from home," because he was one of the few people in the room whose house hadn't exploded. He suppressed a sigh. _It's going to be hell recovering from this._ He blinked. _At least I'm assuming we'll be around to recover, now._ It was true. In spite of everything, his mood seemed to have improved, just slightly. At least now they knew _who_ they were fighting, even if the news was awful. Sure, he liked being a detective, but that didn't mean he appreciated being met with a different mystery at every turn.

"So," he continued, when no one mentioned they needed to leave--though quite a few looked dour enough for him to guess how they felt about no longer having belongs to collect, "that brings us to communications. Obviously, Harm wants us to fight him without help." His mouth fell into a thin, tense line. "I don't like playing by the rules set by murderous psychopaths. We need to get a message to the League and Starfire. Even if they can't break away from their engagements, they need to know what's going on."

"Kory would head back in an instant if she knew what was happening," Gar said quickly.

"Indeed," Raven said, gazing out at the ice, eyes distant.

_Interesting._ "Oracle?"

_"I'm here, Robin."_ She'd re-opened her channel just as soon as Robin mentioned they were done with the briefing, but had said hardly anything. The Urban Legend couldn't help wondering what his friend was thinking about.

_I'm about to give you something new._ "You said the Watchtower was completely powered down, right?"

_"Right."_ Even through the synthesizer, her frustration was obvious.

"Is there any way we could get enough of it back online to access the backup communications array? If we could get it back and feed it enough power, we'd be able to get a message out."

For several moments, Oracle was silent. He observed the faces of his friends. They all looked very surprised (and pleased) with the idea. Snapper and Vic looked like they were listening very carefully. _Good. I'm going to need both of you for this._

_"It wouldn't be easy, Robin. Like I said earlier, significant portions of the system probably _exploded_ when Harm triggered the failsafe. I can't even tell you exactly what's broken."_

"Can it be done?" Robin asked. _No point in dancing around the issue._

_"Yes. Definitely. But ... not from here. We'd need to send a team to the moon, and whoever goes up there might just find everything's too blown up to piece _anything_ back together. Not to mention all the defense systems, life support, and gravity generators are completely offline. It won't be a very safe pace to be, especially if Harm sends drones up."_

"The moon?" he heard Dana whisper. Unfortunately, he would have to ignore her for now.

"We'll just have to make sure the launch is covert," Robin smiled.

"Do you," Jonathan Kent spoke quickly, "know how to repair something like that?"

"I'm very familiar with the computer systems," Robin said with a smile, "but not nearly as much as its primary designers." He turned his head to look at Vic and Snapper, who was grinning like an insane person. "You guys up to the challenge?"

"If you didn't ask," Snapper said, his grin widening enough to start to make Robin feel uncomfortable, "I was going to volunteer."

"I'm in," Vic said, a ghost of a smirk gracing his tense features. Features, Robin thought, that had been entirely too tense since Greta had briefed them. But that was a worry for another time. "I helped redo the entire power system last summer. I'm sure I can help glue it back together."

"You mean," Dana was looking between them, eyes especially full of surprise when they fell on Snapper, "you helped design the Watchtower?"

"Pieces, yes," Snapper said. "I did a lot of work on the security system, and computer hardware interfaces."

Vic nodded, "Like I said, I'm pretty familiar with the power system and the communication array. I know a bit about the life support and gravity generators too. The tech isn't that different from the Titans' space cruiser." He scowled. "Before the Tower fell on it."

Robin nodded. _And here comes the hard part._ "You'll still need someone who knows the software. You'll probably have to reinstall large pieces from scratch."

"Can you do that?" Dana asked.

"Probably," Robin shook his head, "but I know someone who could do it faster and better. Oracle? I hate to put you on the spot here, but I can't think of anyone else on the planet better suited to get those systems running again as quickly as possible. You designed half of them, and know the other half better than the people who _did_ build them."

_"So you're resorting to flattery now, Robin?"_ The synthesized voice sighed. _"I knew you were coming to that."_

"And?" Robin knew she was just as paranoid about her identity as Bruce, but he really didn't think they could get the Watchtower communications array back online without her. _Well, not in time to be any use, at least._

_"I'd have to come through the Fortress. Any Earthbound Javelins may be compromised. We'd need to use a Kryptonian star vessel, to be safe."_

Robin nodded. The Javelins weren't trustworthy--Harm could have very well sabotaged them in some subtle way they might never catch until it was too late, but Kryptonian vessels were made entirely of crystal. Modifying one would mean altering it on the molecular level. The Fortress computer would be able to detect something like that with ease. There was the very slim chance that the Fortress itself had been compromised, but it tended to self-destruct whenever anyone tried, and they were all still in one piece, so he was going to go ahead and consider that too unlikely to worry about. "Yes. I'm sure we can arrange it. You're ... okay with this? You'll have to come here to the Watchtower."

Another synthesized sigh. _"I'd _really_ rather not, but this is more important than my identity. It's as simple as that. Besides, Agent Maad's probably figured out who I am by now anyway."_

"Actually," Ishido said, looking surprisingly abashed, "we have _no_ idea. Or at least, no one at or below my clearance level knows."

"Swell," Greta muttered. Robin felt another headache coming on. But they had no choice.

_"You've already gotten the whole vague, sweeping threat thing from Robin, so I'll spare you my version, though I'll warn you: of the two of us, I'm definitely meaner."_

Ishido smirked. "So noted."

"So what do you need?" Robin asked. It was better not to dwell on just how exposed Barbara would have to be for this to work. At least, that's what he told himself.

_"The hardcopy backups of the Watchtower operating system. Batman kept half of it in the Cave, and the rest is in a secure location in Europe, along with the decryption codes to access the storage device without triggering the self-destruct. I'll get everything together as fast as I can. Huntress has been itching for a mission since this started. I'd send Batgirl, but she refuses to leave the city. It'll take a little while. Vic, I trust you and Snapper can get the tools we need."_

"Yeah," Cyborg nodded, after Snapper raised both thumbs. "No problem. This'll give me time to finish my own repairs. I'm not quite...space-worthy yet."

Robin nodded. "Great. Just let us know when you're ready, Oracle." _Something's finally going our way._

"I should try to contact Starfire," Raven said suddenly.

Robin's eyebrows shot up. _Whoa._ "Can...can you do that?" Even Gar looked surprised, but he didn't say anything. "I thought you couldn't send telepathic messages. And New Tamaran's a long way from here."

She nodded. "Indeed. While I can't send words, I might be able to give her a ... compulsion to return home." Her face darkened. "After ... certain events ... our minds share a particular connection. Even if the distance is too far for the message to arrive intact, there is a slim chance she will receive enough of it to recognize that I am trying to contact her. She would realize I wouldn't try over interstellar distances unless she was needed." She frowned. "But yes, if the distance is too great, it might not work. And there are ... risks."

Robin frowned, but not as much as Gar. "What sort of risks, Rae?" the changling asked.

"I will have to gather almost all of my power and release it in one burst. The process will be lengthy and will leave me temporarily weakened."

Robin nodded. That made sense. "But no permanent health risk?" She shook her head. "How long will you be ... indisposed?"

"Sending the ... pulse ... could take several hours," Raven answered quickly, and after that I would need to meditate to regain my strength. I would likely not be ready for any activity until very early tomorrow morning. Perhaps around three AM, if I started within the next half hour."

_Ah. She could be out of it when the next skirmish begins. But, really, I don't expect it to start anytime soon. Harm seems to be waiting for something. But what?_ He was about to offer his opinion on the idea when Gar spoke up.

"You're not really proposing this so much as telling us what you're going to do, are you?" He sounded nervous.

She shook her head. "I am committed to trying to contact her, yes." She raised her head, fixing them with determined eyes. "We need all the help we can get if we are to survive this, and ... she considers the Titans her family. All of us. She would never forgive herself if she weren't here and something happened to one of us. Whether or not her presence would make a difference in such a scenario is irrelevant, though I certainly think it would. Regardless, I do not intend to give her an opportunity to blame herself for imagined failures." Her eyes narrowed. "I am sure this Harm intends exactly that."

Robin nodded. She knew Kory better than anyone else in the room, and he couldn't find any flaws with her arguments. And even if he could, there was no arguing with Raven. Gar knew this better than anyone. He was the first to smile and squeeze her shoulder. "Just don't shoot your brain out your ears or something."

She smirked faintly. "I don't intend to."

Robin's lips twitched up. "Good luck." The others echoed him, even his parents and the Kents, who were obviously confused about what had just happened. "That's all I've got for now. I'll contact Jason Blood about the brand on Traya's back before I start working on the dossier. I'll try to convince him to come look at it himself. Those of you that don't have anything to do right now ... it might be a good idea to keep an eye on the news feeds. We don't want to miss an unrelated event that needs our attention. Unless anyone's got anything else..." Everyone looked tense but determined. _Ready for action._ "Let's go."

As everyone left the room, Greta kissing him goodbye as she walked off with Bart, he caught sight of Cy catching Gar and Raven very briefly and whispering something to them. It was too quiet to hear, and with their backs to him, he couldn't read their lips. Still, the look in Vic's eyes as he listened to Greta talk about her past was enough to make him nervous. _And here I thought I was only going to have to worry about Cissie._ The archer had remained quiet throughout the entire planning session, barely nodding at the end. Every time Greta spoke, she regarded her roommate with cold, hard eyes. _God, please don't let this explode in Greta's face._ But he couldn't shake the feeling it was going to happen. Grunting, he shook his head. _I've got a phone call to make. Time to talk Blood into making a house call._

* * *

When awareness returned to Helen Sandslark the first thing she knew was that her eyes hurt. Dull, throbbing pain. It took another second to realize she couldn't open them. Couldn't even feel it when she tried. _What...?_ Then she heard the beeping, and realized there was something soft stuck up her nostrils, and when she breathed she smelled really clean, sweet air. She was laying down, her upper body raised at an angle. _Bed? Oxygen? Hospital!_ _Why hospital?_ As full consciousness suddenly came rushing back, memory wasn't far behind. The museum. Monsters. Fire. Pain. She gasped. "_Cassie!_" _Oh, God. _"_Cassie, where are you?_"

Someone gasped next to her and it sounded like they were trying to get to their feet. Strong hands grabbed hers. "Mom? _Mom!_" A shuddering breath loud enough for her to hear. "You're awake! Oh, thank Hera." Her hands pulled back suddenly, but before Helen could say anything they had returned, wrapping around her neck as one side of the bed shifted and Cassie pulled her into a hug. She felt warm tears hitting her neck and brought her own shaking arms up, returning the hug as tightly as she could.

"I'm here, Cassie," she whispered, not sure if she could be louder if she wanted to. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere." Her fingers brushed cloth wrapped around her daughter's midsection, and a wave of panic suddenly washed over her. The list time she'd seen her daughter, she had been surrounded and bleeding. "Cassie, are you alright?"

The arms around her tightened, almost quivering, and Helen knew from years of experience that her daughter was having to consciously hold back from squeezing too hard. "I'm fine. They cut my stomach, but it's almost completely healed now."

"Oh," Helen breathed, tension flowing out of her shoulders, "thank the Lord. The last thing I saw ..." she shuddered, as Cassie tensed. _Oh._ She reached a hand up to her face, running her fingers along the edge of the bandage she found there. _So that last part really happened._ A wave of emotion tried to wash over her, but she fought it off.

Cassie had gone rigid in her arms, mewing softly. "Mom...I...there's something--"

Helen moved one of her hands from the back of Cassie's neck and managed to put a finger over her daughter's mouth. "Shh. Sweetheart, I ... I remember. I know what happened. It's okay." She felt her mouth draw down as if she were about to cry, but couldn't feel anything beneath the bandages. "It'll be okay." And just like that the ball of worry and fear in her mind vaporized. Whatever the future brought, she was alive, and her daughter was alive. When she had been so sure she was going to die, and unsure if her baby was going to survive, that was enough. Still, she wasn't so stupid as to think her emotions wouldn't try to get the better of her later. Cassie tensed, and then she heard sobbing as fat, hot teardrops hit her shoulder. "I'm here, Cassie." She smiled, a wave of pride washing through her. "I'm here because of you."

How long they stayed like that, Helen wasn't sure, but eventually Cassie's tears gave way to shaky hiccups. Before either of them could say anything, she heard a sound like vibrating and plastic sliding against plastic, then quick footsteps, and a gasp.

"My Heavens." _English._ _A man._ Where _were_ they? The voice cleared its throat loudly, and when it spoke again, it brimmed with happiness. "I shall fetch Dr Thompkins at once." More steps, more strange sliding and vibrating, and they were alone again. As much as she knew she needed to meet the doctor and find out what was going on, she wished they could stay like that forever.

* * *

As Gar shuffled into the small laboratory with Raven--or, at least, he thought it was a lab; there were crystalline worktables with consoles set into them and racks upon racks of tools, many of them alien in design--he became acutely aware of the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. It was obvious Cyborg was trying to be secretive about wanting to see them in private, and he honestly couldn't think up a reason for his friend's behavior that didn't have less-than-good implications. _Still, dude, it's not cool to be late to your own secret meeting._

_And it's not like I didn't notice the way his eyes flashed when Tim and Greta told us about the whole Darkseid fiasco. Damn. Poor kid. It's amazing she's still sane. At least it explains the water and electricity phobias._ He blinked. When had he started thinking of himself as being that much older than them? He narrowed his eyes. Between everything he had heard and his own experience, he had nothing but sympathy for Greta. He shook himself. Hard. _No use going there. Besides, maybe he just wants to talk about how the kids are handling being in charge._ He sighed. _Not._

Deep in thought, he nearly morphed into a turtle and ducked in his shell when Raven laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her and found the slightest of amused smirks, which the increasingly small part of his mind not caught up in the current disaster still managed to find adorable. But his attention was drawn to her eyes, and the concern unguardedly displayed there. "Garfield," she said after a long moment, "what is troubling you?"

Without missing a beat, Gar pasted a smile on his face. "That transparent, huh?" They settled next to each other at one of the worktables.

Much to his muted delight, the smirk grew just a hair bigger. "Always."

When she fell silent, he realized with a jolt he'd actually have to answer the question. _So much for charm._ "Lotsa things, I guess. I've been thinking some stuff I'm not entirely happy with myself for thinking, if you know what I mean." _True enough._ H shuddered. "I mean, like Traya. I saw her when I went to see Bart. She's a mess, and, yeah, I'm angry, and what happened to her was terrible and I'll do whatever I can to help get the bastards, but I don't know her as well as I should. I mean, I hate to say this 'cause I know how it's gonna sound, but--"

"There's part of you that can't help being glad it wasn't Lian," Raven finished. He nodded slowly, fully aware she could feel his guilt.

"If it were her in that room, with all those tubes and after what happened, I--I know I'd be a wreck right now. But here I am, sane and calm and _not a wreck_ and why should one little girl be more special than another?"

Raven had found his hand, and gave it a soft squeeze. "I think that's an unfair question. You've helped raise Lian; Traya comes to the Tower once or twice every month or two and attaches herself to the former members of Young Justice. It's only natural that your emotional attachment to Lian would be greater. If you must reconcile the way you feel, consider that Traya will in fact be better off surrounded by, as you put it, more people who are not a wreck."

That made sense, and when he felt a little ball of guilt in his mind start to dissipate, he knew she wasn't siphoning it off. "Fair enough. Still, looks like Bowhead had the right idea when he took Lian to New Genesis with him. She should be safe on a planet full of benevolent gods." He looked at Raven. "You think he was serious when he said the idea came to him in a dream?"

She her expression turned faintly mysterious. "It would be foolish to rule it out, given his heritage." She blinked, and her face was suddenly free of any joviality. "While I'm going to commend you for not lying to me, you should know better than to think you can get away with hiding your feelings when I'm worried about you. I'm going to ask again, Garfield, what is _really_ troubling you?"

Any thoughts of denial died instantly. He had some idea of what it took for her to openly admit to being worried. For one used to being in complete and total control of her emotions, such an admission was a sign of vulnerability, and he wasn't about to throw it back in her face. _Well, in for a penny..._ He smiled thinly. "I'll know better next time, Rae." He sighed. "I'm concerned about us, being here in this room. I have an idea of what Vic might want to talk about and ..." he trailed off, not entirely sure how to continue.

Raven just nodded. "I know," she said softly, taking a firmer grip on his hand. "You saw in his eyes a faint reflection of what I sensed in his mind. He is ... concerned ... about something. Given the timing of his feelings, most likely something to do with Timothy and Greta's ... presentation." She sighed. "Harm will be a difficult enemy to overcome."

"Yeah." He felt a small smile forcing its way onto his lips. Somehow, he'd forgotten that Raven would already know what was going on in Cy's head. _Shows how looped I am, I guess._

"It could be nothing," she said after a long moment.

"You know Vic," Gar countered. "We got trounced at the Tower and right now we're playing defense. He's frustrated and he just found out Tim's girlfriend used to be under Darkseid's thrall and helped the bastard nearly end the world, wiped the memories of almost everyone who knew about it, and now she's got her powers back. He's going to want to talk about it."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem terribly concerned about her past."

He shrugged. That was a loaded almost-question if he'd ever heard one. He tried for a rakish smile, and ended up with something he was reasonably sure wasn't a grimace. "I'm not in the habit of holding the actions of a mind-controlled, brainwashed, or however else manipulated person against them. Especially when the dust clears and it turns out they aren't actually evil."

She started, obviously just as aware as he was this conversation was no longer just about Greta. "Garfield..."

He started to lean closer, to finally say something he'd been meaning to say for a while that he was sure she could sense anyway--that she'd probably been sensing for months now--but then Greta popped into his mind, as she'd been while telling them about her brother, and herself: nervous, almost ashamed. She'd known what effect her revelation might have and had been willing to risk it because dealing with Harm was more important. At the very least, she deserved the same courtesy. He took Raven's hand. "Later, we definitely need to talk, but right now we need to make sure we don't let ourselves do anything stupid."

She smiled wistfully. "Later, we _will_ talk." The smile widened a fraction, and that piece of him that loved making and seeing her happy squealed in delight. "You've grown, Garfield. Sometimes I wonder if perhaps you aren't one of the most sensible of all of us. I wonder how that happened."

He grinned. "Hey, a guy can't keep going on his overpowering charm and dashing good looks forever."

"Indeed," she countered, smile shifting for the briefest moment into a smirk, "but I fail to see how that's relevant here."

It took barely an instant to recognize the insult, and infinitely less time to realize she didn't mean it. "Hey!" he spouted, because she would be expecting it. He wondered if they were flirting, and what exactly it meant that he could never tell for sure. _Guess that's part of the thrill._

Before she could respond, the room's opaque crystalline door retracted and Cyborg, looking good as new after a session with some Kyrptonian nanobots, a toolset, and a matter replicator, strode into the room. Raven squeezed his hand before pulling away. _So much for that._

Vic didn't seem to have noticed their contact. "Yo. Sorry I'm late. Oracle, Snapper, and I were discussing what we'd need to take to the Watchtower. I can't believe we've got to fix a whole damn space station."

Gar immediately slipped into his comic relief role. Admittedly, his performance today had been subpar so far and hadn't done much good, but it was expected he make the effort. "That's no space station," he offered, voice thick with faux-shock, "It's a moonbase." _Yeah,_ _that was a _real_ zinger. Should've gone with something about raiding Superman's underwear drawer to see if they're really lead-reinforced._

"No hurry, Victor," Raven said. "We couldn't very well start your meeting without you."

Cyborg blinked at the unquestionable bite in her tone, and Gar narrowed his eyes. Obviously, Raven was a bit more upset about having to do this then she was willing to say. "Yeah. Anyway, this shouldn't take long." He grew serious. "Guys, I think, after everything we heard, we, well," he paused, looking uncomfortable. Gar took that as a good sign. "I'm worried about Greta."

Raven nodded. "We know," she said bluntly. Gar was close enough to watch a muscle in her jaw start to tighten.

His friend was obviously unprepared for this response. "Y-you do?"

"I can sense your feelings," Raven explained patiently.

For the briefest moment, Gar considered adding _And I've seen you naked,_ but humor really wasn't the way to go right now. Never mind that it really made no sense: technically, Vic was pretty much always naked. "I've been your best friend for more than ten years. Face it. You're like an open book to us. Still, somebody spilled some coffee on this page. What _exactly_ are you worried about enough to call us here in secret, while we should be dealing with the undead, vengeful jackass so enthusiastically trying to wipe us out?" Okay, so maybe he was feeling a bit stressed.

Cyborg shifted, his human eye darting between them. "Look, it's just, you can't tell me you weren't shocked to find out what she almost did."

Gar shook his head, and Raven offered a soft "no."

"It's definitely a surprise--still, it explains a few things," the shapeshifter added, "like how she looks ill and disgusted every time Darkseid's name comes up in conversation." He frowned. "I can see why Tim and Bats and the rest keep it so hushed up. She doesn't deserve for that to be everyone's first impression, you know?"

Cyborg nodded. "Yeah. Still, I ... look. I know she's not evil, and I wouldn't dare mention anything before we've finished dealing with this nightmare, but--she's already an honorary Titan, and when this is over, Tim's likely to nominate her for full membership, and given her obvious commitment to ... our line of work ... and relationship with Tim and friendship with the others, she's likely to want it. We need to consider whether or not that's a good idea." He looked supremely uncomfortable.

_Damn. I hate it when I'm right._ Gar sucked in a breath, prepared to deliver a strenuous objection, when Raven laid a calming hand on his underneath the table. He got where his friend was coming from--Lord knew he understood _perfectly well_ what could happen when a Titan went bad--but this wasn't how the Titans dealt with this sort of thing, and if Vic weren't so freaked out he'd _know_ that.

"You're suggesting something less than that," she said flatly. "If you're convinced she's not evil, why?"

To his credit, Cyborg managed to look almost apologetic. "She's not evil, but she was up front with us--he manipulated her because she was unstable, and her anger problem only made it that much worse. She's incredibly powerful--strong enough that she'll have no problem opening up a portal to hell to boot Harm through. We can't deny the possibility she might relapse, and the fact that Tim's very, _very_ much in love with her. It's his job to protect the team, but I'm not sure he's thinking clearly on this one. We might want to think about a evaluation period of some kind--low stress missions only, increased supervision by us, that kind of thing. I don't want to be blindsided if she has ... problems."

"Let's be clear, Victor. You might not think she's evil, but we're here because what you heard made you _very_ nervous." Raven frowned. "Correct?"

Vic relaxed a bit. "Yeah. We can't ignore what's happened."

Gar had finally had enough. "I think it's a terrible idea," he hissed. "And I think if you stop for a second and calm down--" he blinked, as Raven projected a wave of overpowering calm at him. _Okay, got it. Shutting up. But you can't be agreeing with this._

"I think it's a very tactically sound proposal," Raven interrupted, voice free of emotion. "As you've laid things out, she is a security risk. We will devise some sort of temporarily restricted membership. She and I will submit to these restrictions as soon as possible."

The room fell silent. Gar blinked, and felt like an idiot for not recognizing the way Raven had been steering the conversation. The obvious conclusion she was forcing them into. He tried to suppress a grin. _Her approach is definitely better. I was just gonna yell a lot._

After a long moment, Cyborg finally managed to find his voice. "Now hold on just a minute, Raven. You're different."

"No," Raven hissed, the muscle in her jaw he'd noticed earlier now looking ready to snap under the tension. "You fear her for what she's done under the control of another. Of my own free will, I once tricked Wally into thinking he was in love with me, just to secure his cooperation in fighting my father. _Under Trigon's control_ I helped _him_ nearly destroy the world." Her voice grew louder, more bitter. "I assaulted Kory on her wedding day--left her beaten and broken at the altar and forced her to--I've never quite understood how she manages to look at me, let alone honestly consider me one of her closest friends." She was breathing heavily now, a faint red blush spread across her cheeks. "Yet I'm still welcome here. I'm considered a mentor, and no one seems to be holding my past acts against me." She narrowed her eyes. "I will not be party to hypocrisy where any of our charges are concerned."

Gar considered speaking, but at this point, he couldn't come up with anything helpful to say. _Wow. When Rae takes charge of a conversation ..._

Cyborg sighed. "Jesus, Raven. That was all a long time ago--"

"Yes," she cut in, "and so you've had a long time to come to terms with it. This was very sudden and you're understandably shaken. Moreover, we--you, I, Garfield, Kory and the others--are bonded. We're more likely to forgive each others' sins. Greta has not had time to work her way into our hearts in quite the same way."

"Okay," Vic frowned. "You've got a point. It would be hypocritical to treat her differently, when you put it that way. But we've got to do _something_, don't we?"

He sounded honestly confused, and Gar decided then and there not to be mad at him. "No, we don't. Sure, she's gone through some rough spots, but she's chosen her side. _She's not Terra_._"_ Just saying her name made a dark flame smoulder deep in his chest. Vic nodded. "I'm not saying there's no possibility she'll go bad--hell, any of us could, given the right circumstances. And yeah, the Justice League does this kinda thing--restricted memberships and all that with 'volatile' people. But the Titans have always been about fostering a sense of family, especially for people who maybe don't have very much. So let's not do anything. She deserves the chance to prove herself, free of _anybody's_ manipulation. If she starts to fall again, we'll be there to catch her, like Titans are _supposed_ to be for each other."

"And as for Timothy," Raven added, "I can promise you're worried about nothing."

Cy raised his eyebrow. "What makes you so sure?"

She frowned lightly. "Kory and I have both made ourselves available to talk to Greta about ... certain things we have in common. She's taken us up on our offer more than once. Once, Kory asked her why she never pursued Robin when they were in Young Justice." Raven smiled slightly. "Once she stopped blushing enough to form sentences, she shared with us her fears that if they had been dating and she had 'gone evil,' as she put it, he would have to stop her and it would be very painful for him. I'm convinced the two of them have discussed the possibility of ... problems. As concerned as she obviously was about it before, the fact that they're still together tells me he's made certain ... assurances that he won't allow his judgment to be impaired where she's concerned. I would say more, but I've already shared more than she would probably like."

Gar blinked. _Shit._ "Can't anyone in our group have a _normal_ relationship? You know, without implicit threats of violence? Without _asking_ for your special someone to thrash you if necessary?" He shook his head. "Still, it would take a lot of courage to get that kind of promise out of someone."

"And a lot to give it," Raven nodded. She looked curiously at him for the briefest moment.

_I'd promise you_, he thought, _if you asked me._

Cyborg blinked. "Whoa. You seriously think she made him ... what? Take out a," his mouth twisted into a grimace, "protocol on her?"

She nodded. "I couldn't be more sure unless I asked her directly."

Another long moment of silence. "So I guess you think I'm a gigantic jackass for bringing this up, huh?" Cyborg finally said.

"No," Raven smiled lightly. "But, I think Gar is right: she should be given every opportunity to succeed or fail on her own--and I have every confidence she will do fine. As for pre-emptive planning for the alternative, I would leave that to the person she's already asked to do it."

Vic nodded slowly. "We expect them to trust us implicitly. Goes both ways, doesn't it?" He grinned slowly. "Thanks." Raven nodded.

Gar raised an eyebrow, feeling clueless. Again. "For what?"

"Not letting me do anything stupid. Everything else aside, Tim would sooner leave than stand by and let us censure her." He sighed. "I almost really stepped in it."

_And if Tim left, the Titans would fall apart. We need them more than they need us._ "No problem. We get where you're coming from." He grinned. "_I_ certainly don't want to be on her bad side." He grinned. Crisis averted.

Raven chuckled, looking much more relaxed. "Too bad. I'm not sure she's

forgiven you for eating the last of that peppermint _gelato_ Tim brought her from Italy. She swore vengeance, as I recall. And I'm not sure, but one day I saw her watching you and muttering about 'beef stock,'" she finished solemnly.

Cyborg sputtered. "Damn. Why didn't _I_ think of that?"

Gar chuckled in spite of himself. _Guess I can still make the funny after all._ At least they'd dealt with Vic's freakout. _Still_, he thought,_ when I ate the ice-cream, she _ did_ look at me like I'd kicked her puppy. I think I'll keep a closer eye on her when we go shopping for the Tower._ He blinked, good mood evaporating. _After we rebuild it._ "So, guys, think we can go back to work now?"

Raven stood. "Definitely."

Cyborg likewise rose to his feet. "Yeah. Time to call in the cavalry."

Gar smiled. "The sooner the better." Cyborg turned to leave, and as Gar and Raven started to follow him, she took his hand.

They _so_ needed to talk.


	17. Eye of the Hurricane

AN: See previous chapters for full notes. All feedback welcome and appriciated. Enjoy.

As soon as the steel door to his cell clanged shut, Jonathan Crane finally allowed his self-control to lapse, and basked in the pleasant feel of the sneer that broke across his face as he scrubbed a hand through unkempt hair. When the carbon steel locking mechanism had fully engaged, he decided his half-witted escorts were far enough away to allow himself the low, harsh laughter he'd been holding in for the last twenty minutes. His shoulders shook slightly as he rubbed his wrists--as usual the restraints had been painfully tight, but not quite enough to bruise.

_A feeble attempt to extract some petty retribution against me without breaking their façade of impartiality and professionalism. How juvenile._ Still, he wouldn't let a few passive aggressive guards ruin his good mood. Dr Grant, his so-called therapist, had been ill today, and he was stuck with Stanford, a simpering wet-behind-the-ears idiot barely out of medical school. Not that the man appeared stupid: according to Hugo Strange, his academic record was exemplary. Alas, rumor was he had chosen to work at Arkham for the excitement, passing up a much more mundane, better paying, and more secure job in Chicago. And the simple truth was obvious to anyone, be they as spectacularly imbecilic and delusional as that codependency nightmare Quinn or blessed with Crane's intellect: anybody who moved to Gotham for the _excitement_ was a stupendously massive ignoramus whose speedy demise would be a great service to the human gene pool.

Crane couldn't imagine anyone would begrudge him for his glum demeanor when it came time for today's session. Grant's incessant attempts to make him believe his devotion to exploring the full dimensions of fear constituted a mental disorder were annoying. And misguided: No other emotion save fear was so complex, so uniquely experienced from one individual to the next. If he occasionally had to sacrifice a bit of society's chaff in his experimentation, so be it; left to their own devices they were useless cretins. And if he sometimes used his unique understanding for personal gain, well, why shouldn't he? It wasn't like he was ever given a single hand up from anyone. Grant was intelligent and interested enough to engage in debate on the issues of fear, and still stupid enough to think he had any chance of _curing_ him. _Ha._ Moreover, he treated Crane with the respect--the carefully but imperfectly hidden _fear_--he deserved. The verbal sparring allowed him to keep his mind sharp while he planned his next liberation. But the fact remained, Stanford was an idiot too stupid to be afraid of either Gotham or the asylum, and Crane had gone in expecting no such positive mental stimulation, which made the whole two hours a complete waste of his time.

And he'd been very nearly right. One hour and forty-five minutes of effortlessly deflecting the boy's by-the-book, unrefined techniques, and he was bored out of his gourd. _No imagination. Couldn't outthink a turnip._ On top of that, he was developing a formidable headache listening to the nasally little bastard. Then the unexpected had happened. The orderly escorting Stanford's next patient, Firefly--whom Crane didn't care for very much, and not just because he had accidentally set the straw in the Scarecrow costume on fire _twice_--stuck his head in the office to give the traditional fifteen minute warning. Why the man didn't just use the intercom, Crane would never know, but he wasn't complaining: for just a split second Stanford's eyes had widened as fear swept through him. Crane's interest was peaked, though he wasn't dumb enough to look back and try to find out the trigger. When his session was finally over, he stole a quick look as the orderly led him back to his cell, and his eyes immediately fell on a silver scorpion hanging around the man's neck. _Arachnophobia._ It had taken all his control not to burst out laughing then and there. How _ordinary._ Still, it gave him the perfect opportunity to get his revenge on the dolt. Petty? Yes. Mundane? Absolutely. But at the very least, it would give the fool some respect for the power of fear.

Thus, he was quite cheerful as he lay in his bunk and contemplated the possibilities. Getting the requisite arachnids would be the hardest part, but anything could be had in the Asylum for the right price, and he'd developed quite the skill at bartering with unstable minds over the years.

His thoughts were disrupted by a bright flash of light and howling that left his ears ringing. Half blind, he sat up in his bunk and swung his legs over the side, but did not move to stand. _What the devil?_ He had been around long enough and traveled in the right circles to recognize a Boom Tube, but during Arkham's last renovation Batman, acting through the Justice League, had requested some sort of scrambling field be put in place to inhibit such portals. _At least, according to Nigma. Who knows how he found out. Curiouser and curiouser._ He blinked. _Damn. I sound like Jervis._

He kept blinking furiously, more surprised than anything else. Anyone who could so easily break into his room would have already done him harm if they so intended. There was no logical reason to be afraid, and it was the mark of the superior mind that logic, not fear, was always in control. After another few seconds, only a few spots remained in his vision, and he was able to get a look at his visitor.

The man looked to be in his early twenties, with thick, long, black hair and a domino mask with glowing red lenses. Tall but not quite six feet, and obviously muscular, he wore black leather and steel mesh fatigues that surprisingly looked to be fitted with little or no body armor, though he certainly compensated with an abundance of weaponry. Crane was by no means an expert on anything but the most basic of arms--guns and knives were entirely too primitive and imprecise to be his weapons of choice in all but the most desperate situations--but he could say with certainty this fellow was stocking enough equipment to take on half of Gotham PD's Major Crimes Unit, assuming he had any skill.

He catalogued all this with interest, but it was the boy's skin that caught his eye. At first, and no thanks to the cell's dim light, he'd assumed it was chalk-white like the Joker's, but that wasn't quite right. No, there was a certain bluish tinge. _Like a corpse. Definitely not human._ That realization set off a flash of something in the back of his mind--not fear of course, but there was definitely cause for apprehension. He'd dealt with the occasional demon or magic user or alien, and the experience always wound up being unpleasant. _Still, interesting. Very interesting._

The figure chuckled, readjusting the large broadsword on his back and grinning. "Not too startled there, doctor." His tone turned serious. "Then again, I wouldn't expect anything less from The Master of Fear."

Anger sparked deep within him, but he quickly pushed it down. There was a seriousness in the young man's voice that told him he was in all likelihood _not_ being patronized. Still, the palpable arrogance rolling of the youth made it clear he was not showing deference out of respect to someone he considered an equal. _Alright, then. If you're not going to lop my head off, let's see what you want._ "So I am," Crane said smoothly, slipping into the silky, confident tone of the Scarecrow with practiced ease. "Obviously, you're not here to attack me, and I must admit I am intrigued as to how you managed to enter my cell. But first, the obvious: who are you, and what do you want?" If this boy wanted to just _appear_ in his cell and act like he owned the place, that was fine. Scarecrow could be nonchalant and blase with the best of them.

The stranger chuckled again, bemusement all over his masked features. "The name's Harm, and I have a proposition for you. I'd like your cooperation on a project that would benefit from your ... unique talents." The grin increased to a point that the Joker comparison popped back into Scarecrow's head. "You would be handsomely compensated, of course, and I can guarantee it'll be more interesting than sitting on your ass in this cell planning to attack idiotic twits with scorpions."

_Ah. Interesting. Arrogant, but well informed. Telepath?_ He rarely engaged in doing others' dirty work, as their plans were usually incredibly small minde, but it never hurt to listen, especially when confronted with the prospect of escape, and of course, money. _Then again, I assume he's talking about money. Last time Joker decided to "compensate" me I ended up with three crates of potted ham._ "Well, you've already intrigued me just by showing up, and as you said, there's not terribly much going on around here, and if you think you need my aid you might very well have something ... _fascinating_ ... in the works. Let's hear it, then."

Harm--and really, what an unimaginative name--crossed his arms as he leaned against the cell wall. "Basically, I want to break you out of here. No, let me rephrase: I am ready, _right now_, to open another Boom Tube and let you _walk_ out of here. On the condition, of course, that you do a job for me."

Scarecrow nodded thoughtfully. "No need for the vagueness; I'd figured that much out on my own. The question is, what's the job? If you know of me, you likely know I only partake in exploits of a certain caliber."

Harm smirked. "Fair enough. You heard any news today?"

Crane shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I have two hours of television privileges today, but they don't start for another thirty minutes. I suppose something's going on outside." Harm laughed then, loudly, and Scarecrow silently thanked whomever was responsible for putting him in a soundproof cell. He really wanted to hear the whole story before the guards came bursting in. _Even if they did, I doubt they would stand much of a chance._

"Yeah," Harm said, grim humor in his voice. "_Me_. I'm sure you'd approve: I've got _everybody_ running scared. I'd tell you more, but I'll let you catch the highlights on the news. They're finally getting around to covering Las Vegas. Thought they'd never make it off the east coast." His grin turned feral. "Morons."

_Las Vegas? East coast?_ His interest increased. Whatever this boy was up to, he managed to make a nationwide splash. "I'll be sure to do that," Crane said finally. "Though I would hope you would tell me enough that your presence here would begin to make more sense."

Harm chuckled--a sound Scarecrow was rapidly coming to loathe. "You're really to the point, you know that? No room for banter. Alright," his face grew serious, and his lips drew into a hateful scowl, "here's the deal. I'm out for the Teen Titans, and so far it's going well enough. I've knocked off one of their mentors already, and the rest are holed up in the Superman's Fortress of Solitude, no doubt spinning their wheels like the panicked little twits they are. You know their leader, I'm sure. Robin may be a weakling, but he's pretty good at keeping things under control, as much as I hate to admit it. I need him as off-balance as possible, and I want you to help me increase the pressure."

A great wave of disappointment flowed through Scarecrow, and more than a little indignation. "If you're simply looking for someone to attack him so you don't have to get your hands dirty, I'm afraid the answer is no, as much as I'd like to get out of this dump. Tangling with the Batman is never a fun experience, and going after his lackeys is the best way to earn his ire. While I do make the occasional exception, it's certainly not something I'm willing to do to suit someone _else's_ ambitions." _You couldn't pay me enough._

To his surprise, Harm just looked amused. And smug as hell. "Let me apologize, Dr Crane. I'm afraid I didn't make myself clear." His expression darkened, and for the barest split second Scarecrow was ... concerned ... about his personal safety. "I'm going to rip out Robin's heart myself, and would be really ... annoyed if anyone else tried before I was done with him." And just as quick, he was smiling again. "Besides, like I said, I need your _particular_ talents, and let's be honest, if I wanted a hitman you wouldn't be my first pick." He chuckled. "And just so you know, Batman's off planet with the Justice League. For this mission, he would be none of your concern."

_Rather bloodthirsty, aren't you?_ The disappointment and indignation melted away as once again his curiosity came to the fore. _Damn, but this boy can drag things out._ "Well," he said, purposefully mild, "my apologies for jumping to conclusions, then."

Harm waved his hand dismissively. "Not at all. I'm sure plenty of cowards have tried to get you to do all their work for them. But no, I want him off balance, and what better way to do that than to throw his city off kilter? You know Black Mask, I'm sure?"

Scarecrow raised an eyebrow. _It's rather hard not to know of someone with a skull for a head and an ego the size of my Aunt Bertha._ "Yes."

"Well," Harm continued in a very businesslike tone, "then you probably know he's out to rule Gotham's organized crime sphere. He's put quite hefty contracts on certain family heads. Why, if someone were to kill Belosi, Laurentis, Gerard, and Moglievich, they would easily net ten million."

Scarecrow nodded. Black Mask's ambitions were an open secret. _But something's still missing._ "My instincts are telling me you could kill them all yourself, and keep all the money. Why me?"

Harm popped his knuckles, and nodded with an approving smile. "I could. But that'd be too clean. Now, if _you_ did it, I'm sure you could not only kill every last one of them, but their deaths would be as terrifying and confusing for the survivors as for the murdered. I can tell you where to find them. I'm even willing to negotiate with Black Mask on your behalf. I know you two don't get along, so he'll never even know you were involved. What I'm asking," the feral grin was back, stronger than before, "is for you to--"

"To create enough confusion and fear to start a massive, city-destabilizing gang war." Scarecrow felt a vicious smile of his own bloom across his face. "My dear young man, that _is_ an interesting challenge. The potential to engender a general climate of panic is enormous." He thought for a moment. _Why not? If Batman's really out of the picture, there might actually be a chance of success. And the chance to leave Gotham in the thrall of its own terror ... yes._ "Congratulations, young man. You've left me very, _very_ interested. I'm assuming you would want some cut of the profits."

Harm nodded. "A ... negotiator's fee, for dealing with Black Mask, and a finder's fee for getting you the information. Five million, paid on successful completion of the mission, of course."

Scarecrow resisted the urge to gape. That was far less than he'd been expecting to have to give over to such an obvious egomaniac, and left him with a quite mind-boggling five million dollars. He was, unfortunately, not one of the criminals who managed to accrue and secret away a vast amount of wealth, though he was by no means poor. Still, that much money in one fell swoop would be more than he'd made in the last four years. _Imagine the resources, chemicals, and tools I'll be able to acquire._ "That would be ... quite acceptable." He narrowed his eyes. "Though I must confess, I'm not exactly comfortable taking you for your word on all this."

"Of course not," Harm said, grin never faltering. "You're a smart man. Watch the news. I think it will convince you I can back up my claims." He turned, and held out a silver cylinder. "I'll be back in an hour and a half." Another flash of light and a pair of ringing ears later, Scarecrow found himself alone again.

"Well," Jonathan Crane said with a smirk, "so much for being bored." The next little while would be _highly_ interesting, at the very least. He smiled and lay back on his bunk, contemplating the various ways to literally scare someone to death.

* * *

"No," Robin sighed, cupping a hand over his earpiece as he stared out at the icy landscape. "Empress says it's not spreading, and it's not infected. Right. Yeah. Thanks, Jason. See you soon. Robin out." He tapped his ear roughly, once more alone with his thoughts. It had taken less than twenty minutes to redact Harm's file. Barely five with the immortal. With Greta gone with Bart and everything else not so much unraveling as becoming more and more difficult to manage--his parents, Cissie, Cassie's mom, Traya, Greta's mother, and whatever other little brewing crises he had missed--just taking a few minutes to get his thoughts in order was refreshing. 

The more Robin thought about it, the more he was sure they could take Harm. He was just as certain it would be an incredibly violent, bloody affair, but didn't let himself start fretting about who might be killed or maimed. It was really amazing how useful Bruce's platitudes could be. _No matter how bad things get, stay focused in the present. Every instant you spend dwelling on past mistakes is an instant you could be working to ensure your future success._

Yeah. No pressure there. He blinked, and his lips twitched into a smile. When Bruce had sent him on his first solo patrol, he said something else, and even if he didn't repeat it very often, Robin knew he meant it. _I wouldn't be sending you out there if I didn't believe you were capable of dealing with whatever you encounter. You're as ready as you can be, and you've come farther than I would have believed possible. I'm proud of you._

Bruce hardly ever said those last three little words, but Robin, unlike Dick it sometimes seemed, was very good at reading them in his actions. And Batman _had_ left the Titans in charge of Earth, and trusted them to handle the entire planet. He nodded to himself, a dull warmth spreading from his chest. Batman believed in him, and Robin wouldn't let him down.

The Urban Legend was roused from his musings by a faint rush of air, and turned just in time to see Superboy float into the alcove, hands behind his back, somewhere underneath his fluttering cape. His dark blue eyes were stormy, his mouth drawn into an ominously thin line. "Hey, Tim," he said flatly, dropping to the ground and coming to stand at Robin's shoulder in three long strides. He folded gauntleted arms on what passed for the windowsill, the gold buckles over his forearms gleaming in the light. "Cassie just beeped me. Her mother's awake." He cracked an entirely too small grin. "She sounded thrilled."

Robin felt a burst of joy, but it died out just as quickly. Kon should've been excited too, as much as he liked Helen. _Something's up._ "But you don't."

Kon cracked his knuckles and shook his head. "Don't get me wrong, Tim," he said, frowning slightly, "I'm glad she's awake. I was really starting to worry. It's just ... she's _blind_ and half her face is burned off, and she _knows it_, but so far she's only worried about Cassie and the rest of us and--"

"She isn't as upset as she should be?" Robin nodded, feeling his lips twitch down. "She's repressing." _Not surprising. Still ... she shouldn't be so _good_ at it so soon after something like this._

Kon nodded, scowling. "Yeah. Exactly. But, I mean, after what happened, is it normal? Cassie's too happy to notice, and no one else is really paying attention, but I've got a bad feeling about this."

Robin winced. "Kon, I ... I'm sorry. I haven't been keeping an eye on Helen as much as I should be. I didn't mean to leave you stuck dealing with it alone--"

Kon's eyes widened. "Whoa! Put the brakes on the guilt trip express. I'm not saying I feel abandoned or something, and it's not like you haven't been busy, _Fearless Leader_. You're doing a great job, by the way, seriously." He scowled. "None of us really tried to stop you and Greta from taking charge with Traya, and you're both going to have your hands full when she wakes up. We'll all be there to help, but she'll be stuck on you like flies on honey." Robin raised an eyebrow, coughing back a chuckle. Kon blushed. "Ma says it a lot," he muttered. Clearing his throat, he continued quickly. "But yeah, without getting all broody on me, what about Helen?"

Robin grasped his friend's shoulder and forced out a small smile. "It's good that you see what's going on, but denial is a normal part of the grieving process. It's ... unusual ... for someone so grievously injured to repress so heavily so quickly, though." _As if the injury wasn't bad enough._ "But I'm sure Alfred and Leslie are keeping a close eye on Helen. If they think something's wrong, they'll deal with it. They're the best." _Can't afford to start second guessing now._

Kon narrowed his eyes, folding his arms over his chest and floating off the ground. Robin wondered if he realized he was doing it. "So I just keep standing around and doing nothing? That's what I've been doing since you and Cassie brought her back, and it _blows_, Tim."

Robin sighed. "I know what you mean." Kon looked like he was ready to disagree, but Robin held up a hand. "How do you think I feel every time I go with Greta to visit her mother?" He gritted his teeth. The more he thought about Ellen Hayes, the more he was sure they were in for bad news, and he was going to regret not telling Greta sooner what was going on.

Kon blinked, eyes wide. "I ... I didn't think about that. Sorry."

Robin waved him off. "Forget it. I don't really do anything special when I go with her, but Greta says me being there for her keeps her from completely falling apart over it all, especially when Ellen has bad days. That's worth any amount of discomfort to me, even if it can be excruciating. It's worse for her." _And that's not even counting this latest mess._

After a long moment, Kon nodded sharply. "Still sucks, though. It's going to take some getting used to, but I'm there as long as she needs me." He smiled thinly, and Robin knew that would be the last they spoke of this for now. "So," Kon said abruptly, tone far more casual than before, "did you finish editing that file for Gotham PD?"

_Way to change the subject, buddy._ Robin grinned, pulling a folder from the largest pouch in his cape and tossing it over. Kon snapped it out of the air and started flipping through. "Got it down to just the basics: powers, abilities, personality profile. Luckily, you don't really need to know that much about how Harm became what he is to fight him. Or to know _not_ to fight him." He sighed. He had left out any information on Harm's origins. There was no reason to officially link Greta to all this." _If APES or the DEO gets involved, it might happen anyway. Ugh. Nice positive thinking, there._

Kon whistled. "Just the basics? This is 40 pages, in tiny print."

Robin smirked. "About half of that is information on what took out the public service communications systems, the ineffectuality of our Boom Tube shields, and some other logistical stuff."

Kon flipped another page, and nodded. "Ah, yeah, here we go." He snapped the folder shut and handed it back. "As much as you're telling them, I bet they won't even stop to think about what you're leaving out."

Robin nodded quickly as he slid the folder back into its pouch. "That's the plan. Gordon's smart, though. He's been dealing with Batman long enough that he'll probably notice I'm not telling him everything. What's important is that he realizes I'm not hiding anything he needs to know." _Hopefully, it won't rankle him too much._

Kon nodded. "Sounds fair. So, when are you going, and which one of us do you want to go with you?"

"Any minute now." Robin hated to sound like he was chasing Kon off, but the sooner he left, the sooner he could be back. "And I'm going alone."

Kon's eyes widened. "Hey! I thought none of us were ever supposed to go anywhere alone." Superboy threw him a sidelong glance. "What's up?"

"Don't worry," Robin said quickly, lifting both hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not turning into Batman. I have no problem with any of you going into Gotham. I'm taking a Tube to the top of Wayne Tower. Batgirl will be meeting me there, and we'll stay together until I come back. It's just--I haven't spoken to her at all since this started, and I'd like to check on her. From what Oracle said, she's not taking everybody being outed like this very well."

Another nod. "And you don't think she'd be completely comfortable talking about anything that's bothering her with someone else around."

Robin nodded. "She doesn't like admitting weaknesses. She's a lot like Bruce that way. I'm not even sure she'll open up to me." He frowned. "We're not exactly as close as I wish we were. Nightwing's my brother, but more often than not Batgirl feels like a distant cousin." _Doesn't help that I was a little afraid of her in the beginning. And she could see it with every move I made._ "I don't want to put any extra distance between us right now."

"And you're worried she might see you bringing someone else along as 'extra distance?'"

Robin cracked his knuckles. "Yeah."

Kon shook his head. "You know most of the time I pick on you Bat people, I'm joking around, but seriously, you guys have problems," he finished with a smirk.

"I assure you," Robin smirked right back at him, "we're all very aware of that." Kon chuckled as his earpiece chirped. _That's a private line._ "Just a second." and he raised an eyebrow as he tapped it. "This is Robin."

_"Master Robin,_" Alfred's crisp voice filled his ear, _"do you have a moment?"_

_Huh?_ Alfred always chose his words carefully. He usually only ever wanted "a moment" with someone when he wanted to speak with them in private, and it wasn't like anyone would be able to hear him with the receiver in his ear. _Unless they had super hearing._ He grimaced. He could only really think of one thing Alfred would feel the need to talk to him privately about. _Ellen. Damn._

Robin was saved from the potential problem of having to shoo off Kon without getting his suspicions up as Superboy's own earpiece went off. He couldn't hear the tone, but it was obvious when his friend tapped his ear and started talking about lunchmeat and animal crackers that _someone_ else was talking to him. _Anita, probably. Hopefully._ Kon smiled and waved at him as he walked off, and Robin returned the gesture. "Yeah. What's up, Alfred." He already had an idea, but maybe he was wro--

_"Things have settled down enough here that Leslie and I thought you should know we finished our examination of Ellen Hayes."_ The Englishman's voice grew somber. _"You were right to suspect a problem, young man. She is not in any immediate physical danger, but, suffice it to say, Leslie would like to speak to Miss Greta immediately, and I would suggest you accompany her if at all possible."_

Robin's face twisted into a grimace. _So much for being wrong. Damn._ He had been dreading this conversation for so long Alfred's calm demeanor was actually quite encouraging. If there had been something more immediate wrong, the gentleman's gentleman would sound more urgent, at the very least. "She's not here right now, Alfred. She's gone to get everything out of her hotel room with Bart. I'm about to head for Gotham and meet Batgirl. We'll be going to see Commissioner Gordon."

Alfred was silent for a long moment. _"I see. Waiting a little longer at this point wouldn't hurt, I suppose."_ Well, that was comforting, at least. _"But as soon as you are both back, Leslie or I will contact Miss Greta."_

Robin nodded, and couldn't help wincing at the trace of frustration in Alfred's voice. He knew it had to be more for the whole situation than anything else, but he still couldn't help thinking once again that Alfred just wasn't supposed to sound like that, especially in a crisis. "Understood."

_"Very good,"_ Alfred said quickly, just a bit more upbeat, _"and Master Robin, do tell our mutual, softspoken friend Leslie and I said hello."_

He couldn't help grinning at that. "Will do, Alfred. Robin out."

* * *

A flash of light and the feeling of being squished to the size of spaghetti, and Robin found himself on solid ground once more. Even before his vision had completely cleared, he knew he wasn't alone, but as he spun around, he couldn't see anyone. _Of course not. It's still bright out. She wouldn't stand in plain sight._ He began walking towards the shadowy cover of the Wayne Enterprises logo, looking for a patch of darkness that looked just a bit too--_There._ He couldn't help smiling as Batgirl unfolded herself from a crevasse in the giant "W," and glided across the rooftop. He quirked an eyebrow. Her movements seemed much more casual than they usually did when she was out on patrol. 

As she walked, she tilted her hand, raising an open palm to the sky, sunlight reflecting off the inky black of her armor. "No point trying to be ... sneaky. Too bright."

"Yeah." He started to say more, but stopped as she came to a halt in front of him. He couldn't read body language like a book, but he it was obvious she was tense. Before he could say anything Batgirl moved forward with that swift, _flowing_ grace that was uniquely hers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He was too surprised to move, but luckily his arms seemed to be operating off instinct, and he felt himself returning her hug. Batgirl--Cass--was almost never this affectionate with him. Maybe their relationship wasn't as screwed up as he thought. After another few moments, he felt her starting to pull away, and loosened his grip.

"I'm glad you're ... good, Robin." She paused. "Almost," she added, sounding slightly accusatory.

Robin's eyebrows shot up. "Almost?"

Batgirl swept forward again, knocking back his cape with one of her arms and lightly tapping against the armor over his taped ribs.

He had almost forgotten about them after Raven dulled the pain. Every once and while he felt a dull throb, but that was it. The next time he got in a serious fight, on the other hand ... well, he'd just have to be careful. He scratched the back of his head. "It's not that bad. Leslie didn't ask me to stay on the sidelines, at least."

Batgirl nodded. "Good."

Remembering his earlier words to Superboy, Robin risked his own question. "What about you? We--I--kind of left you on your own since this started, and now Oracle's about to check out. Everything okay?"

A quick nod. "Gotham is quiet. Too ... early, I think. See more ... tonight ... how criminals act. Lots of police. Their ... radios are working. Not like Oracle said other places are."

"Well, that's good news," he said. _But you're avoiding the question, and you know I know it. Wish I knew what you were thinking. Sometimes that full mask is _really_ annoying._ "But how are _you_?"

She stiffened, and for an instant he thought he might have pushed her too far, but then she seemed to shake herself, turning away slightly. "Robin," she whispered, and to his astonishment she actually wrung her hands. "What happens when we win?"

That was _not_ the question he was expecting, and he knew better than to pretend it was. "I don't understand. What do you mean? Sure there'll be lots to do...we'll have to find places for everyone who lost their homes, and then there's Wonder Girl's mom and Traya and--" he ground to a halt as Batgirl held up a hand, and he thought about thanking her for the interruption. He was starting to seriously depress himself.

"No." She shook her head, sounding frustrated. "Gr--Secret will send Harm back to hell."

Robin nodded, unsure where she was going. "Yes, she will. It's the only way to really stop him."

A nod. That didn't seem to bother her. "But what about the ... the monster maker? And the time traveler. They know ... us. Everything."

It took him a few more seconds to figure out what she meant than he liked, but then it clicked, and he felt stupid for taking so long to figure it out and more than a little uncomfortable. "They know our secrets, you mean."

She nodded again, folding her arms. "We're not safe," she said quietly, uncertainly. "No one. Not while they know. Don't want to see everyone ... hunted forever." It wasn't like he hadn't thought of that before, but the way she was talking, and knowing how gung-ho she could be when she thought someone she cared about was in danger, he was momentarily alarmed. But her next words calmed him just as quickly. "Can't kill them, and they won't forget." She paused, tilting her head forward. "So what do we do, Robin? How do we ... fix this?"

Part of Robin whispered that they could be _made_ to forget, but wiping memories just to protect themselves was just as wrong as killing to do it. Maybe more. "The time traveler has disrupted the timeline severely. We'll turn him over to the Linear Men. They're timeline police. It's their job to make sure he can't contaminate the timeline anymore."

She cracked her knuckles. "The monster maker."

_That_ was much more complicated. In truth, Robin had _no_ idea how they were going to deal with him. "I don't know. But we'll catch him, and anyone else who knows. I promise you that. And some way _will_ be figured out to ... contain ... that knowledge. Our way." He knew she would be able to read the _without killing_ implicit in his words. He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way. "The League has just as much at stake here as we do--_everyone_ will be trying to come up with a solution. We won't be hunted forever." He thought for a moment. There was something else she probably needed to hear. "And the only way you'll ever lose the family you've made for yourself here is if you decide you don't want us anymore, because we're not going _anywhere_, no matter _who_ tries to get rid of us. We will _not_ let some cowards who are too afraid to show their faces ruin our lives."

"No. We won't," Batgirl said, and she _did_ sound more confident. She stepped forward again, grabbing his shoulders, her small hands like vices. "Harm will try to kill you. When he does ... don't forget I ... want to keep my family. _All_ of it. Tell the others."

_Wow. I think that was an order._ "I won't forget." Robin grinned. "And maybe you'll get the chance to tell them yourself."

"That would be ... nice." She pulled a grapnel from her belt and gestured at a particularly nasty gargoyle across the street. He grabbed his own as he raced her to the edge of the roof. It was time to go.

* * *

Jim Gordon shook his gaze away from his open window as Harvey Bullock burst into his office in a huff, arms burdened with a few folders and something blocky, plastic, and black. _Radio._ He shoved his glasses back up his nose as he stood to grab the piece of communications equipment, which looked about three seconds away from tumbling to the ground. _Wouldn't hurt it, but still._ "Well, what's the word?" he asked, falling back into his chair. 

Harvey dumped the folders on top of Jim's already cluttered desk and squeezed himself into a chair. "The techs still don't know what happened, Commish. Just that some kinda virus thing fried all the computerized dispatch equipment." He scowled, hands twitching, and Jim figured he was itching for a donut. Since whatever the hell was going on started, there hadn't been any time for coffee breaks. "Damn high tech junk."

"Wonderful." Jim took off his glasses and began polishing them with his tie. "So they just wasted hours, and _still_ don't know what's going on, except that everything is 'fried' and somebody did it on purpose. Coulda told you that right off when the entire network went dark."

Bullock shrugged. "Least we had the back ups." He picked up the radio he had brought in, and banged it against the side of Jim's desk. "Tough, too, not nearly as flimsy as the hi-tech sets." He shook his head. "We've finally got one over on Metropolis. Word is they're still not completely back. Not even close. Guess no one ever thought they might have to do without their computers." The words were gloating, but Harvey couldn't have looked any less happy. Even the City of Tomorrow would start to eat itself alive if the criminals realized public services couldn't talk to each other. Its superheroes could only do so much.

Jim forced himself to smirk. It wouldn't do to look discouraged in front of his officers. Even Harvey Bullock, who could probably see straight through him anyway. Still, the truth was anything but encouraging. "You think I wasn't going to make sure we had top notch backup systems after No Man's Land?" When the money had finally showed up to start rebuilding GCPD's infrastructure, Jim had found himself in almost full control of where it went. Bruce Wayne's influence, according to rumors. It was easy enough to ignore the implications if he wanted to. "After seeing how fast Gotham deteriorated when it was cut off, you'd think all the other major cities would've pushed for it, too."

Harvey laughed. "You kiddin', Commish? They wouldn't follow Gotham's lead if we figured out how to turn sludge into gold." Jim didn't miss the furtive glance he sent towards the window. "Hodgkins heard from one of his buddies in Vegas. All the private security people have been deputized since they're the only ones who can really talk to each other right." Harvey looked uncomfortable all of the sudden, eyes darting once again to the window. Jim _had_ left it open for a reason, but Harvey was acting plain weird.

With all the money flowing through Los Vegas on a daily basis, it was the private security capital of the country. It was uniquely suited to take care of itself until public services were completely back, especially around The Strip. _As long as no one has any power trips_, he couldn't help thinking, an image of Bill Petit flashing across his mind's eye.

Still, it was odd for Harvey to randomly mention that particular city. "And?" he prompted. Since this mess had started, his friend had gotten more and more distracted, and Jim did him the courtesy of pretending not to know why. _Looks like you're finally ready to talk._ He would be very surprised if he had to ask directly what was on the detective's mind.

Harvey cracked his knuckles, not meeting Jim's eyes. "Nothing official yet, but word is one of the Justice League--Red Tornado--was at the Bellagio with his family when it all started. Someone tried to implode the building. He got the evacuation going, handed his family off to some security guard named Byron, and went back stage to check on a missing magician."

Jim frowned, ignoring for the moment the incongruity of one of the League having a day out with his family _in costume_. Even though he could hardly fathom the idea after being in Gotham so long, there were such things as superheroes with public IDs. _Now we're getting somewhere. Can't help thinking I'm not going to like this._ "Convenient. Go on."

"It gets messed up from there. This guy, Byron? Police found him murdered his apartment, time of death sometime last night. Whoever was pretending to be him disappeared, and no one knows where the little girl is."

Jim's eyebrows shot up and he sat up in his seat. "So she was kidnapped? All that just to grab a kid?" He paused. Harvey hadn't mentioned the woman. "What about the mother?"

Harvey actually winced as he shook his head. "Missing, presumed dead. Whoever grabbed 'em took 'em to a subbasement--a few shreds of the kid's dress were found there. Skull fragments were found at the scene with hair that matched the mother. Full thickness. They can't be one-hundred percent certain till they get a tissue sample to compare, and that's not happening any time soon." Jim raised an eyebrow in question. "Their house was completely torched. There's nothing left to get a sample from. Bomb squad thinks it was C4." He whistled. "Someone went through a _lot_ of trouble to erase 'em, boss."

"_Christ_, Harvey," Jim growled, wishing for a cigar or his pipe for the first time in months, "them, Wonder Girl and her mother's _imploding museum_ in Gateway, Titans Tower in San Francisco--someone's declared war on superheroes, and we're right in the middle of it with no idea what's going on. You can't tell me this isn't ... isn't ... _argh!_" He took a deep, shuddering breath as Harvey stared at him with wide eyes. They both knew it wasn't like him to lose it like this, but he couldn't very well tell the detective he was scared to death because he hadn't been able to get Barbara on the phone since 2:30, and whatever was going on, she was surely right in the middle of it, _again_. He had only kept from panicking outright because he knew things like this had happened before, even if they weren't so public, and she had always been fine then. Still, as soon as things were calm enough for him to leave by himself, he was going over to the Clocktower and checking on her, even if he had to bust down the door. Secrets be damned; she'd just have to deal.

"Uh, Commish? You okay? You're lookin' a bit ... splotchy, there." Was that his imagination, or had Harvey just slid his chair back a few inches?

_Nice, Jim. Very leaderly._ "Sorry, Harvey. I don't much like being so ... helpless."

The big detective waved him off. "Don't worry about it. You're not the only one feelin' the heat," he growled. "I mean, hell, this thing's nationwide. There's not really that much we can do about it, but we've got radios, guns, and cars. Don't want the normal trash thinking this is a chance to start something."

Jim felt himself nodding in agreement. Harvey was right. For now, they couldn't do much about the coast-to-coast whatever the hell it was, but he would be damned if some punks managed to start a gang war or go on a spree while he was navel-gazing and feeling sorry for himself. "Not that I'm saying I want anything to happen, but some good old fashioned street crime would be a welcome distraction."

"Tell me about it," a new voice murmured, and Jim whirled back towards his window as Harvey jumped slightly in his seat, then chuckled.

Robin stood just to the left of the window frame, cape open and arms crossed. Somehow, he had managed to find a bit of shadow from the bookcase and squeeze himself under it.

Jim resisted the urge to shake his head, but still must have looked amused. The boy tilted his head and smirked. "Reflex, Commissioner. Afternoon, Detective." Robin sounded just as focused and serious as he usually did when Jim talked to him. Maybe moreso.

"About damn time you showed up, kid," Harvey said, grinning. "Kinda been waiting for someone tell us what was up." His mouth twisted into a frown. "You don't look too good."

Jim raised an eyebrow, half amused and half confused, but then he saw it, too. The shadows he was steeped in made it harder to notice, but the signs were there.

Robin's mouth was drawn into a thin, emotionless line that Jim had at first ignored because reminded him so much of Batman (_too much_, actually), and the lenses in his mask were narrowed just slightly more than normal. Very faint worry lines were visible near his mouth. He stood with his arms crossed and head tilted slightly down, and Jim got the impression he was in very deep thought. Even the muscles in his arms and legs seemed just a bit too taut, as if he were waiting for someone to attack him. Excepting Bane and No Man's Land, Jim could recall no time when the boy had seemed this uncomfortable and grim. _Well, damn. That's not a good sign at all._

He would have seen it sooner, but he always tried to read Robin the way he read Batman, and was only just starting to realize that didn't really work. Harvey, apparently, had known for a while.

Robin chuckled, entirely too flatly. "It's been a lousy day," he said simply, reaching under his cape. Jim heard something snap and the sound of paper sliding against fabric, and his interest piqued. "That doesn't even come close, really. You've no doubt noticed someone's attacked the public service infrastructure nationwide, and a lot of League installations have been destroyed. A very powerful, very smart psychopath called Harm is trying to wipe out the Teen Titans, and he's putting a lot of effort into doing it _now_, while the League and Outsiders are off-planet. Though I'm sure he plans to go after them eventually. Everything that happened today--the communication systems, the hubs, the demolition of Titans Tower--it's all tied to him."

"_Fuck_," Harvey breathed, and Jim was too gobsmacked to bother even glaring at him. "All of it, _everything_ that's happened is all because someone's got a grudge on you and your pals? We don't even know how many people are dead--"

"_We_ know, Detective. I made a point of tracking down the exact numbers." Robin said, soft and harsh, as he pulled a folder from under his cape. "It took a little while to get a handle on things, otherwise I would've come sooner. I didn't want to end up leaving you with questions I couldn't answer." He sighed, and Jim couldn't help but think of how young he had to be, even as his mind reeled at the idea of this entire nightmare being someone's insane _vengeance_ scheme. "Nothing I can say could come close to the grief I feel for all the people who died today, but I promise you we're doing our best to make sure no one else joins them." Robin's eyes narrowed, and for just a moment Jim could see burning anger and guilt in his blank gaze, but he mastered it quickly. Far more like Batman that way than any of the others.

Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn. Sorry, kid. Didn't mean to snap at you like that. Not like there haven't been plenty of vendettas against cops that haven't led to bloodbaths. When it happens, though, we usually know what the hell is going on pretty quick."

"And we can usually do something about it," Jim added. From everything he had heard--the ease with which all the JLA teleporter hubs, with their heavily armed guards, had been taken down, for starters--he suspected the police were going to have to take the backseat on this one if he wanted to avoid massive causalities. "My ego isn't so big that I can't see that's a bad idea, here." Jim _hated_ having to play defense, even if an insane supercriminal was on a murderous rampage.

Robin nodded at him, stepping forward and putting the folder on his desk. "This _dossier_ includes everything important we currently know about Harm and his accomplices and what happened this afternoon. I'd like to go over it with you in case you have any questions."

Harvey leaned back in his seat and stared at the vigilante. "What happened to just dumping the info and disappearing? Not that I don't like having someone around to explain the mysterious evidence folders for a change."

Robin scowled. "Harm is especially fixated on me and my closest allies. I have no doubt that he'll focus on Gotham specifically at some point. Like I said, I don't want anyone else dying because of this." He smirked at Harvey. "Besides, you already know I can be mysterious and vague. For now I'm more interested in getting everyone through this in one piece."

Harvey barked, Jim even managed a small chuckle, not in the least because the kid _was_ trying to lighten the mood, and they certainly needed it. Things were about to get nastier, he was sure. Robin was here to prepare them for a _war_. As the Commissioner of Police, he was more than ready to fight to protect his city, but it didn't stop there. Others, he knew, might blame Robin and those like him for attracting the violent, bloody attention of supercriminals, but Jim had gotten out of that game years ago, when he realized Gotham would have fallen in on itself (and maybe straight on to Hell) despite his best efforts if not for the help of a man in a horned cowl. Aliens still would try to invade, and maniacs to pillage and maim, even if there weren't superheroes to challenge. Like Harvey said, vendettas weren't anything new, and humans with no powers could be just as violent and deadly if they wanted to. He slid the folder towards himself.

If all that wasn't reason enough to get ready for whatever was coming, this maniac meant to wipe out those close to the young hero standing in front of him. Feigned ignorance only went so far, and anyone trying to kill his baby because she managed to overcome what the Joker had done to her and _still_ did everything she could to help keep Gotham afloat and the world spinning in the right direction, well, they would have to deal with him.

"Harvey," Jim said finally, "lock the door. Let's get started."

"Right." The big detective hauled himself out of the chair and lumbered across the room.

"Alright, Robin," Jim said finally, "it's your briefing."

Ignoring the folder for the moment, the vigilante started with an overview of the various attacks around 2:30, and out of courtesy, Jim decided not to mention the very similar sudden, inexplicable, and total collapse of the Drake home in Bristol around the same time. Or the fact that the couple and their estranged son--living with Bruce Wayne for almost a year--were now missing. There would surely be an uncomfortable moment if he did, and Jim easily convinced himself he had no sure idea why.

* * *

Even though she knew getting lost in the Fortress wasn't really an issue, not with all the little robots running around and computer terminals in the walls (which didn't really count because she had yet to find one), Dana was seriously considering having a long talk with Superman about putting up some airport-style signs. Maybe it had been her ego talking, but she saw no reason to get anyone to walk her to the nearest toilet after Connor had given her directions. She thought she had followed his instructions pretty well, but in the end she had come to a small closet (she thought it was a closet) with an orange crystal chair growing out of the floor that had offered to do her hair. 

She was still quite proud of herself for not running away screaming when a pole with some sort of bulb grew out of the ground and a creepy (she supposed it might have been meant to be soothing) voice asked if she also wanted a session with the "full body exfoliation matrix." That had been five minutes ago, and Dana had to admit that she must have been a little creeped out and taken a wrong turn somewhere, because now she had _no_ idea where she was, and it wouldn't be long before her bladder started getting insistent.

On top of all that, she was _still_ running around without shoes, and whatever the floor was made of, it was _hard_, and her feet were starting to hurt.

_Lord, this is so stupid. Okay, plan B: start feeling up the walls and hope I get lucky._ She winced. _So glad I didn't say that out loud._

As she began trying to find an access panel, Dana heard light footsteps, getting closer. She turned just in time to see Greta round a corner, a large, flat crystal pallet covered in luggage floating along behind her with a dull hum.

"Mrs Drake?" Greta blinked up at her, resting her hands on the crystal behind her. "Are ... are you lost?"

Dana chuckled, shaking her head. _Not like she'll make fun of me or anything._ "What gave me away?" She thought for a moment. "And sweetie? Just Dana, please. Whenever someone calls me Mrs Drake, they usually want to sell me something."

"Sure," Greta said.

Dana pretended not to notice how the girl's smile had all but doubled in size. _"She just wants to make a good impression,"_ Tim had told her. So far, so good.

"Um," Greta started again, looking a little unsure, "where are you trying to go?"

Dana blushed. "I ... this is gonna sound really stupid, but I'm trying to get to the restroom. I asked Connor for directions and, well..."

Greta scrunched up her nose. "You didn't end up in that room with the big orange chair, did you?" She shuddered. "I don't think Kon's trying to prank you or anything. Tim would throttle him if he did. He sent me there once, too, and I'm sure there's actually a toilet somewhere, but ... then that pole thing comes up out of the ground and starts waving around and I don't really want to stay and find out."

Dana laughed. "I'm glad I'm not the only one creeped out by that thing."

Greta brightened. "My room has a pretty regular toilet, if you want to borrow it."

It suddenly occurred to Dana that Jack was getting them a room for the night, and if she had stayed with him, she would have been able to go by now and wouldn't have gotten lost in the first place. _Gotta be nerves making me ditzy. No way I'm this dingy all the time._ "Lead the way, honey." Greta nodded and started moving down the hall again, and Dana fell in step next to her as something occurred to her. "Say, wasn't Bart supposed to be helping you with all this luggage?" And now that she really looked, Greta had a _lot_ of bags. More than she had ever seen one person bring on a vacation, even a pretty long one. A dark little thought suddenly tickled the back of her mind, but she ignored it. "He didn't skip out on you, did he?" she said playfully. The energetic boy didn't seem like the lazy type.

Greta shook her head quickly, almost defensively. "No! Not at all. He was great while I was getting everything packed back up, and I'd still be dragging stuff through Boom Tubes without his help, but once I had everything on the platform, I thought it would be better to let him go. He gets a little overeager to help sometimes and I didn't want him to get the idea to help me unpack and get into something I didn't want him to see before I could stop him."

"Ah, well," Dana said quickly, starting to feel slightly uncomfortable and strangely amused at the same time. "Privacy is important."

Greta nodded enthusiastically. "Tell me about it. One time, Cassie and Cissie saw me wearing this superhero themed pajama set I had found at the mall, and started joking about how I was 'sleeping with the Justice League.' I didn't really get what they meant or why they thought it was so funny, but I asked Starfire one day and--well, Cassie and Cissie didn't make that joke anymore." She blushed. "I _did_ get a lecture from Victor about taking good care of the pillows and stuff in the Tower guest rooms, but then Gar ... uh ... what's the word ... goosed him, and he forgot about it." She shrugged. "That's not really the kind of thing I was worried about, though. I mean, I trust Bart and all and he can be mature when he wants to be, but I still don't want just anyone ruffling through my underpants and stuff, even if they are trying to be helpful. Not like there's anything really strange in there, but, well, you know."

"Uh, yeah. You bet." Part of Dana _really_ wanted to know how you goosed someone who didn't wear any pants (or any other clothes, which was kind of creepy if she stopped and thought about it), but she was too afraid to ask. _Greta sure seems comfortable talking about it, though. Then again, she didn't know what it meant to sleep with someone._ She suddenly remembered that Greta had spent years in captivity, from when she was very young, and just wouldn't have had an opportunity to pick up a lot of things that almost anyone else her age would know. _If she was stuck like that for years and didn't age like Tim said, she might be even older then she looks_._ Lord. And she's probably still playing catch up._ Suddenly, Greta's naivete and, and the way she flipped from extremely innocent to angrily knowing so quickly and so often, and all the strange little gaps in her knowledge that Dana had observed since meeting her, made a lot more sense. And so did Tim's warning about not pitying her. She was cracked and damaged around the edges, yes, but she was far from broken. _Maybe that's one of the reasons she gets along so well with Tim. He's not exactly whole and normal anymore either._ Dana wondered if Greta realized how extraordinary she was just because she hadn't gone completely and totally insane after everything that happened. Tim wouldn't have been able to talk her down from Darkseid's mental abuse if there hadn't been anyone sane there to talk to, however deeply hidden.

"Now, if I had bought the Robin underpants I saw at Hot Topic last week, _that_ would've been weird. But I do have some self control," Greta added musingly, almost to herself. "They _were_ really cute though."

Dana nearly lost her balance and walked into a wall.

* * *

After using the restroom, Dana found herself insisting on helping unpack. Maybe she was invading the girl's privacy a bit, but leaving one (very small) person to wrestle all those bags just didn't seem right. For whatever reason, she didn't use her powers to make things easier on herself, and Dana wasn't going to ask why. 

And if she admitted it, she wanted to learn as much about her son's very unique girlfriend as she possibly could, and would take any opportunity she got. Greta was surprised enough with her offer that she didn't seem to suspect any kind of ulterior motive, which Dana appreciated. She didn't want the girl to think she was evaluating her or something. _'Cause I'm not. Really._

Dana counted at least a dozen different pieces of luggage: clothes bags, duffels, big boxy suitcases with eight different zippers and twice as many pouches, and even two metal briefcases that Greta seemed especially careful with as she set them aside. The platform itself took up almost half of the small room. That funny feeling she had felt earlier nestled its way back into the pit Dana's stomach.

"Here, sweetie." Dana shook herself out of her reverie and scurried to help Greta with a duffel that was as big as she was. Dana hefted it easily and watched as Greta stuck out a hand for the wall to steady herself.

"Thanks," Greta smiled thinly. "I would've felt really stupid if I ended up in the infirmary in the middle of all this because I fell over and got crushed by my pants and shoes. Could you put it, hmm," she pointed to a crystalline block next to the

bathroom door, "over there, please."

Dana couldn't help frowning as she crossed the room. "Greta, where are you going to put all this stuff?" The room wasn't that much bigger than a Holliday Inn-type bedroom, and there wasn't exactly a lot of closet space.

Greta looked at her for a moment as if she were speaking gibberish, then blushed. "_Oh._ Well, I don't need all of these. Just a few more. I'm hoping Kon knows somewhere I can store the rest until I can move it again."

Dana pressed her lips together, no longer able to ignore the suspicion in the back of her mind. "Sweetie, is this _everything_ you own?" She was very proud of how she just sounded curious, and hopefully hid just how disturbed she was. _If this is _everything_, it's not much._

Greta just nodded before turning to start tugging another, smaller suitcase of the pallet and carrying it over to the other one. "I'm afraid so," she said conversationally. "I used to leave most of this at St Elias during the summer and just take a few suitcases with some clothes and bathroom stuff and ... other things, but this year they were going to start charging, and I don't have 2000 dollars to spend on that, and since there was room at the hotel I just brought it all with me."

Dana felt slightly dumbfounded at what she was hearing. _She stores her things at St Elias and ... where does she go when she's not staying in Batman-provided hotel rooms? What the hell?_ Dana wasn't a stupid person, though, and her mind had already come up with an explanation that made far too much sense, given everything else the girl had told them. She just didn't want to believe it. She pointed at a small duffel. "Bathroom?"

Greta smiled and nodded, tilting her head. "How could you tell?"

"It's either that or a purse," Dana smiled back at her as she scooped up the parcel, "and you don't seem like the furry purse type." Greta laughed, and as Dana moved towards the bathroom, she couldn't resist asking, "So, if Tim wasn't putting you up in a penthouse lovenest downtown," Greta's entire face turned red, and for an instant Dana felt bad for teasing her, "where would you be staying, do you think?" _Please say you have an apartment somewhere, or something._

Dana was already coming out of the bathroom again before Greta spoke. She was leaning over the platform, so Dana couldn't look at her face. "I don't know, really. I usually stay with Cassie when we're on vacation--Gateway's pretty safe, most of the time, and I like hanging out at the museum. I stayed with Bart a couple times, and that was fun, but I always feel like I'm bothering Jay and Joan. Bart's a handful for then, even if Jay _can_ keep up with him." She giggled. "And last time I was there Bart and I fell asleep on his bed under a blanket while we were watching a movie, and we both had clothes on, but I think it made Joan a little uncomfortable, and that weirded _me_ out a little. I mean, I like Bart a lot. He's like the brother I should have had." Her eyes narrowed slightly at this, and Dana bit the inside of her lip. "But I never once thought of him like _that_." She shook her head and grinned at Dana. "Besides, I don't think I would have the energy. I don't know how Cissie keeps up with him." She seemed to realize she was rambling (disappointing, because it was really cute to watch, as far as Dana was concerned) and frowned. "After everything that's happened, though, I don't really know where I'll go after this. I'm trying not to think about it. Anita keeps offering their spare bedroom, but as long as Agent Maad's living with them, _that_ isn't happening." She sighed. "I could probably stay at Wayne Manor as long as I wanted, but it seems too weird, you know? Mr Wayne is only just getting to really like me, I think, and he really likes his privacy. I don't want to overwhelm him with, uh, me. And with Tim--it would be kinda complicated." Her frown deepened. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up...uh..."

Dana had to work very hard to control her facial expression. _She's living out of _suitcases._ She's homeless. This is awful._ She blinked. _And now I'm staring at her and she's going to think I'm angry because of what she said. Wonderful, Dana._ She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, surprised when what she thought was crystal shifted beneath her weight. "Don't apologize, honey. I asked. Don't get me wrong," the patted the space next to her, and Greta moved to sit down, "I miss Tim living with us very, very much, and can't wait for the day when he and Jack and I can all live together again like a family, but ... we're just not there yet." It hurt more than she thought it would to say it out loud, but it was the truth. Whatever unspoken truce there was between Jack and Tim right now, there was no way it could last. There was just too much that wasn't resolved yet. "And I didn't mean to pry or criticize or anything about where you live. I just ... it makes me sad that you don't have somewhere to call your own." Dana squeezed Greta's shoulder as she spoke.

Greta just flashed her a small, confident smile, and there was no missing the sadness in her eyes. "I'm glad you asked, if you were curious. Too many people guess." For a moment Dana felt guilty, but figured the girl wouldn't tell her anything if she didn't want to. Keeping secrets was obviously something she could do very well. "After Darkseid, I thought about trying to get my parents' house. I wouldn't want to live there after ... after everything. There's too much death there for it to ever be home again. Even without my powers, I could feel it. I'd hate to go back now that I'm actually in tune with the Abyss." She shook her head, speaking again before Dana had a chance to ask exactly what that meant. "I really didn't have a choice, though. After Daddy tried to stop Billy and Mommy ... got sick, there wasn't anyone to pay the bills anymore, and they owed a lot of people money." She shook her head again. "The bank took it. There was a little bit of money left over after all that in," she chewed at her lip, and it made Dana smile in spite of herself because she couldn't help thinking about the way Tim would stare at his girlfriend when she did that, like no one could see that he was totally smitten, "probation?"

"Probate?" Dana offered. Now she really _was_ starting to feel guilty for dragging all this out of the girl, but the fact that Greta didn't seem terribly bothered just reminded Dana she had much _bigger_ problems. _Not like that makes it any better._

Greta nodded. "Yeah, that. Mr Wayne helped me get the money. Tim says he 'threw his army of lawyers at it.' And he's even helping me invest it so I'll have some savings. Once a month he sits down with me and explains what all the different numbers and things mean. I think I'm really getting the hang of it, and it's pretty fun. At least I think so. Tim says it gives him a headache." She giggled. "Cassie told me once if Tim and I liked _everything_ the same it would be too boring. I told her she was nuts."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Greta winked, "I mean, think about it. Do you really think my life--any of our lives--will _ever_ be boring? Ever?"

Dana chuckled. "I guess not." They were quiet for a moment.

"Dana?" Greta said after a moment, and Dana turned quickly at the tone of her voice--far more tentative than anything she had heard from the girl since the luggage escapade began. She looked pensive, and Dana realized this was important.

"Yeah, sweetie?" she said quietly.

"I know I probably seem a bit less upset about not having much than I should be, but I want you to understand so you don't worry. I just--I feel better knowing _someone_ I trust is just a few rooms away if I need them. Every time something bad's happened to me, I've been alone."

It only took an instant for Dana to realize what she meant, and her eyes widened. "Greta, are you _afraid_ to live alone?" _Oh, sweetie._

Greta dipped her head slightly, as if she were trying to hide her eyes behind her bangs. It would have worked better if Dana wasn't looking at her from the side. "It's not like I have a panic attack if I'm alone for too long. I just ... as long as I live with someone else, no one can take me away without someone knowing I'm missing. Some superhero, huh?" she hissed. "I can't even stay somewhere alone overnight without worrying I'll be kidnapped. I only managed to stay at the Hyperion because Tim promised to check on me at least once a night. So stupid."

Dana tried to discretely wipe away the tears springing up in her eyes, and squeezed Greta's shoulder. "No, sweetie. It's not stupid at all. You were taken and abused by terrible people. More than once. But you're smart and brave and in spite of everything you still put yourself out there and try to help people, even if some of them are trying to hurt you again. If staying with your friends makes you feel safe, then that's what you should do. No one will think less of you. No one whose opinion matters, at least." She shook her head slightly. What had been done to the girl next to her was monstrous, and the more she was around her, the more she felt the need to look after her. The fierce overprotectiveness Tim exuded made more sense all the time. "Does Tim know about this?"

Greta nodded. "Yeah," she sighed. "It makes Tim sad, so we hardly ever talk about it. Robin protects people, and fixes things when they're wrong."

"But he can't outthink this for you, or beat it up," Dana said softly. _That must be terrible for him._

"No," Greta said, just as quietly, "but listens when I _do_ want to talk about what's happened to me, and he always makes me feel safe. Even if we weren't together I know he wouldn't stop looking for me if I disappeared. And he's so smart. They couldn't hide me from him forever." She paused. "Sometimes I'm afraid I'm too ... needy ... for him."

Dana shook her head. "I don't think so. Tim has a lot of problems too, sweetie." Greta nodded, frowning. Dana was surprised she agreed so quickly. _Good for you._ "I think, from what I've seen, you help him just as much as he helps you. Just in very different ways. You might not even realize you're doing it. And here's a secret: that's how real, _adult_ relationships work. It's not always sunshine and roses. When someone's in love with you they'll accept you and all your little imperfections no questions asked, just as long as you do the same. My momma always told me real love wasn't much of a fairy tale, and you've really gotta work at it to keep it going, but it's the most amazing thing in the world, because two people in love are stronger and happier and more whole together than they ever could be by themselves. And my parents have been married almost thirty years, so I think she knew what she was talking about." She sighed. "I just wish you didn't have to go through so much, sweetie. You shouldn't have to live out of a suitcase and bounce around from place to place, or always look over your shoulder for someone who might be trying to hurt you. But I don't know what to do to help you."

Greta looked at her for a long few moments before speaking. "I don't want you to be sad for me. One day I will feel safe again by myself. I promise I won't let them beat me. I may not have my very own place, but as long as I've got my family, I've got a home." She grinned softly. "If I'm here or San Francisco or Gotham or Gateway, or wherever, it doesn't really matter so long as I've got you guys." Her grin widened. "And the scenery never gets boring."

Dana gulped down the lump in her throat, and was sure her eyes were moist they way they were stinging. Greta's vocabulary might not be as big as Tim's, but she didn't seem to misspeak. _So long as I've got you guys. My family._

She didn't know her son's girlfriend very well yet, but it was painfully obvious she didn't trust just anyone. And she hadn't warmed up to Jack just because he was Tim's father, either. Dana wrapped her in a one-armed hug and grinned ear to ear when the small girl returned the gesture, but was determined not to make this into a Lifetime Movie Network moment if she could help it. She searched for something deep and meaningful to say, but she never could get around the lump in her throat.

"We'll make it, Dana," Greta whispered softly, the same steel edge in her voice Dana had heard when the girl had burst into a cloud of golden-brown vapor before her eyes. "I won't let Billy hurt any of you again."

Dana frowned, glad Greta wouldn't be able to see her. She wasn't sure that was a promise the young hero would be able to keep, as much as she might want to. _But she needs to make it more than I need to hear it._ "I just want you all to come home when it's over, sweetie. All of you."

"Me, too." Not the answer Dana was expecting, and it certainly wasn't what she wanted to hear, but she couldn't help smiling anyway. It was honest, and reminded her, whatever Jack thought to the contrary, they all knew what they were getting into, and that _had_ to give them a better chance of making it out alive. And sometime in the last several hours, she realized, Greta wasn't the only one who had decided to adopt a new family member or two. She squeezed the girl just a little tighter, and closed her eyes, enjoying the companionable silence they had fallen into. It wouldn't last long. Not today.


End file.
